Please Help My People
by M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng
Summary: "What do you want, Merlin? . . . Sorcerers always want something and they usually say what it is once they've revealed themselves. . . Which is it, Merlin? . . . Revenge or power?" In which Arthur questions Merlin's motives once he discovers his magic. Reveal fic. Gen.
1. The Sorcerer's Plea

**Disclaimer: I don't own** ** _Merlin_** **or** ** _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_** **, their characters, places, or events, or the song "God Help the Outcasts;" all rights belong to their respective owners/creators. This disclaimer applies to all subsequent chapters of this work.**

 **Set somewhere after Arthur is king and has recently gotten the throne back from Morgana and Agravaine, about a year, year and a half after the season four finale. This fic covers the fallout of Merlin's magic being revealed, particularly the legal ramifications and the effects on the relationship between Merlin and Arthur; the reveal itself is posted separately, as a one-shot title _Of All People_.**

 **Cover art by the awesomely talented Phoebe594.**

 **Edited chapter uploaded 8/4/18.**

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 _"_ _I don't know if you can hear me, or if you're even there._

 _I don't know if you would listen to a Gypsy's prayer._

 _Yes, I know I'm just an outcast; I shouldn't speak to you._

 _Still, I see your face and wonder: Were you once an outcast too?_

 _…_

 _"_ _God help the outcasts, hungry from birth,_

 _Show them the mercy they don't find on earth._

 _God help my people; they look to you still._

 _God help the outcasts or nobody will."_

 _…_

 _"_ _I ask for nothing—I can get by,_

 _But I know so many less lucky than I._

 _Please help my people, the poor and downtrod;_

 _I thought we all were the children of God."_

 _…_

-"God Help the Outcasts," from _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_

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 **DAY 1:**

When footsteps sounded down the passage, Merlin easily recognized them as Arthur's, yet even when those achingly familiar footsteps had stopped in front of his cell, he still didn't look up from the manacles around his wrists. Arthur had made his thoughts on Merlin's magic—Merlin's _betrayal_ —perfectly clear when he had found out and the former servant couldn't bring himself to look and see the hurt and betrayal and anger and fear again, not even as every other instinct in him cried out for him to check that Arthur was alright. So instead he used his hearing, which told him that Arthur's gait was natural, no limps, not favoring one side or the other, not moving slowly to accommodate a torso injury; that Arthur's breathing was natural, a bit quick in that deliberate, controlled way that meant he was suppressing something, granted, but that could have easily been a measure to prevent his anger from exploding in a public place such as the heavily-guarded dungeons; that all was (relatively) well with his King. He idly wondered, if the smell of the dungeons weren't so pungent, if he would be able to smell that odd mixture of sweat and fresh air that meant Arthur had been training, and if that would account for his breathing.

When he heard the guards leaving, presumably at Arthur's command, followed by the jingle of keys and the shrieking of the cell door, he finally raised his head just a bit, observing the King as much as he dared, while still avoiding his face.

As the boots Merlin had cleaned so many times came steadily closer and drew to a stop just in front of his own, his eyes lowered again until he found himself staring at them, hard, noting that they were in need of a cleaning and wishing he had the courage to look this intently at Arthur's face.

"What do you want, Merlin?" The tone was detached, flat, and Merlin couldn't follow his King's mood as he usually could, but it was the first thing Arthur had said directly to him since he had found out and he couldn't help the thrill of hope that surged through him alongside the confusion as he finally lifted his head completely to regard the face of the man standing over him.

The face and body language were equally unreadable as Merlin studied them intently, and confusion became the dominant emotion as he struggled to understand what Arthur meant. What he wanted from Merlin.

"What?" As he rasped out the single word, he told himself his throat was dry because he was thirsty, not because he was afraid. He _wasn't_ afraid of this conversation. He wasn't afraid that the relationship that had meant the most to him over the past several years might be irrevocably broken and that it was entirely his fault. Just thirsty.

"What do you want?" Arthur repeated, his tone unchanged. At Merlin's apparently obvious confusion and lack of an intelligible answer, Arthur explained, "Sorcerers always want something and they usually say what it is once they've revealed themselves. Usually revenge." Merlin watched as the king visibly swallowed and heard his tone change, anger leaking in, a little frustration and confusion; there were traces of the tone he'd had when he'd discovered Agravaine's treachery and didn't that just make it a little harder for Merlin to breathe. "Is that what you want, Merlin? Revenge? What did I ever do to you?" With the last sentence, Arthur's composure broke completely and raw emotion flooded the words: anger and hurt and desperate confusion, and Merlin's heart broke just as completely.

"I don't want anything, Arthur," he began quietly, trying as always to soothe away the pain in those blue eyes, to _help_ , but Arthur cut him off with a growl and a sharp gesture.

"Sorcerers always want something! It's why they seek magic!" At his own words, a realization seemed to dawn on his face. "Because they want power. _You_ said to me once that people betray me because they want my throne. Is that it? You want my throne?"

"Arthur, I've never— "

"Which is it, Merlin?" Arthur was nearly shouting now, every part of him radiating fury. In a sudden burst of motion that the startled warlock didn't see coming, Arthur grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him halfway up in a sharp rattle of chains; their faces were inches apart now, Merlin dangling wide-eyed from Arthur's clenched fists as the latter loomed over him and continued shouting. "Revenge or power? _Both?_ " He shook his prisoner for emphasis as he finished, "What do you want from me?"

There was a beat of silence. Merlin's gaze was calm, and when he answered, so was his voice. "Nothing." As the enraged king made to throw him back to the ground in disgust, the warlock's bound hands shot out and grabbed the king's own shoulders to counteract the motion, steadying himself as he got his feet under him and rose. He met the king's eyes steadily and squeezed the broad shoulders. "No, Arthur, listen."

Arthur slapped his hands away and shoved him back into the wall; Merlin stayed back, but straightened away from the wall slightly, determination showing in every line of his body, in the gleam of his eyes, and in the measured tones of his voice. "You've been asking questions, Arthur. Will you let me answer?"

The king drew in a deep breath and released it in a huff, taking a step back and crossing his arms, which Merlin took as permission to continue.

"I don't want revenge, Arthur. I never have, and I don't think I ever will; I don't think there's anything you could do that would ever make me want to actually hurt you. Even now, whatever punishment you decide, I will accept without anger." He could hear traces of fear in his own voice, though, and hurriedly moved on. "Even if that were the kind of person I was, I could never do that to _you_ , do you understand? I could never intentionally cause you harm. I would give anything to keep you from harm." He searched Arthur's face to see if he was following; his features were stone again, but he gave a nod of acknowledgement.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Merlin forged ahead with Arthur's other concern. "I don't want your throne, either. I told you once that I am happy to be your servant until the day I die and that hasn't changed. As far as I'm concerned, it never will.

"Arthur, some men are born to be kings and others are born to serve. _You_ were born to be king. I was born to serve you. My loyalty always has been and always will be to you, Arthur, even above myself; not only because you are a great king, but because you are _my_ King. I wouldn't see anyone else on the throne of Camelot while you live."

"Why then?" Arthur asked. "Why would a sorcerer who desired neither revenge nor the throne come to Camelot? Why would you get close to the heir to the throne? Why would you stay at all?"

Merlin couldn't help but huff a small laugh. "Ironically enough, I came _because_ of my magic and I got close to you by accident, because that is just the kind of twist fate has always put into my life." Arthur made a motion for him to explain, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I was born with magic, but it was just raw power without any real control; I'd just think of something and my magic would do it, whether I actually wanted it to or not sometimes. It was . . . scary. For me and my mother. Not necessarily that it was happening, but that someone could find out, which Will eventually did. Do you remember Will from Ealdor?" Arthur nodded his recognition. "Once my mother knew he'd discovered my magic, she decided the risk in Ealdor had become too great; that I needed to get out and that I needed to learn how to control it better. She knew Gaius, knew that he'd studied magic once and was very knowledgeable, so she sent me to Camelot so that he could teach me.

"I wasn't supposed to get close to you; I was supposed to avoid notice, actually, but of course I picked a fight with the Crown Prince the very first day. And then another. And then, once your father made me your manservant, it would have drawn more attention if I tried to get out of it, so I just went with it at first. And then . . ." Merlin shrugged. "I liked you, I guess; I couldn't just leave you."

"You were made my manservant because you saved my life," Arthur remembered. "Why? You had every reason not to."

Merlin shrugged. "I couldn't just let you die."

"Why not, Merlin?" Arthur pressed. "You were supposed to be avoiding attention and I was the second most prominent figure in the kingdom. You had to have known I would have killed you in a heartbeat if I knew you had magic. And I'd already humiliated you in public and sent you to the stocks. Twice. Why would you risk your life for someone you had every reason to hate?"

"I don't know," Merlin admitted. "I panicked about it a lot afterward, but in the moment, there wasn't time to think about stuff like that. I saw that the sorceress had put everyone to sleep and knew that she couldn't be up to any good, so I just dropped the chandelier on her. And then she threw the knife and I just reacted again and pulled you out of the way. It wasn't planned or anything, it just happened. It—I guess it didn't really matter who you were."

And wasn't that typical of Merlin, Arthur thought. It had never really mattered who he was the same way it had to everyone else; where everyone else saw the prince or the king, Merlin just saw a man named Arthur who happened to be prince or king. Like now, Merlin was visibly showing frustration at Arthur's repeated questioning on the same topic, even as he sat in a jail cell condemned for a capital crime; but he was also being his usual earnest self, and he had saved Arthur's life a few times. Arthur decided to be gracious and demonstrate his understanding of the matter. "So you just saw somebody in danger and helped them, regardless of who it was."

Merlin nodded.

"Using magic."

Merlin nodded again, looking wary.

"In front of the entire court of Camelot."

Merlin frowned sharply, but nodded again.

"You idiot. Have you no sense of self-preservation?"

Merlin grinned and gave a half shrug. "Not really." The grin slipped away. "You live your whole life under a death sentence just for being born and it kinda doesn't really matter anymore." Arthur was taken aback at how accepting Merlin's tone was, how there was even an edge of wry humor to it.

They eyed each other for a moment, both serious, and Arthur noticed that Merlin's fingers had begun to twist together, making the length of chain between them clink and save them from complete silence.

Merlin swallowed nervously and decided now was as good a time as any to get this over with. "Listen, Arthur," he began hesitantly. "You asked me what I want." He sensed Arthur's body tensing and risked a glance up; Arthur's features were still, blank, _empty_ and he almost couldn't go on through the pressure in his chest. He swallowed again, ducked his head, and began to speak to Arthur's boots, fidgeting restlessly, but determined to get through this, to make Arthur _listen_ , even if it were the last time.

"I know that I broke the law, and that I lied to you, and that you are rightfully angry at me; I know you don't have any reason to, but I'm asking that you at least hear me. I—I know that you have been hurt by magic. A lot. But I am begging you, by all the mercy I know you hold in your heart, by your sense of justice, and by any friendship we ever had to listen to a sorcerer just this once." He looked up at Arthur's face again, this time holding eye contact as he went still. "You have fought against any injustice you have seen in this world just as I have. You have always fought for the little people who may not have had a voice for themselves and I am asking you now to hear my voice on their behalf.

"Arthur, not everyone who possesses magic is evil. Magic is neither good or bad, it just is. It's a tool, just as a sword is, and it can be used only as desired by those who command it; just as having a sword doesn't make one evil, neither does having magic. And unlike swords, some people are born with magic, Arthur.

"What I am asking is that you show mercy to magic-users; that you consider whether they have committed any crime other than the possession of magic before you condemn them to the pyre. Because some of them haven't, Arthur, and I know you've seen that. Some of them are just normal people, loyal citizens even, who use magic to _help_. You have shown yourself to be a better king than your predecessors, Arthur, more fair, more willing to listen, and many of us with magic have long hoped that you would someday free us. We still do. And I hope that we are right—that _I_ am right—because if I'm not . . . I firmly believe that there will never be another king as great as you, Arthur, and if you don't change the laws on magic, nobody will.

"I'm not asking anything for myself. I said I would accept your punishment, and I meant it. I have had a better life than I ever imagined would be possible for me. I've had my mother and Gaius, and so many friends. I found a purpose for my magic: I've been able to help people and I've had the privilege and honor of not only watching you become the king you are today, but of standing alongside you and serving you as you did it. I am grateful beyond measure for the years I've spent in Camelot, and for my friendship with you, Arthur, never think otherwise.

"But I also lived everyday with the terrible certainty that if anybody ever found out, I would be killed, brutally, simply because of how I was born. I have lived with the at-times-nearly-overwhelming fear that somebody _would_ find out, and there are so many others who live under that same cloud. Mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and husbands and wives and friends who are terrified of losing their loved ones to the pyre, or of being condemned alongside them just because of their relationship. And so many others still who _have_ faced the reality of execution. My father was chased from his home, chased again from his new home in Ealdor, and lived in a cave for 20 years because he had an ability that your father deemed 'too close to magic' for his comfort. Fr—a friend of mine was beaten and caged and dragged to Camelot for money because of her magic. Gwen almost died because your father thought she used magic to heal her father, and her father _did_ die because one of his customers turned out to be a sorcerer. And the Druids, persecuted and hunted their entire lives, whether or not they actually have magic, just because they believe that it should be free." He held up a hand to forestall Arthur's building argument, his own tone softening from where it had begun to rise. "I know you have stopped the persecution of Druids, but you haven't made any progress in the other direction, either, even for them.

"Arthur, you've always said you wanted justice for all your people. Magic-users are your people too. And just like the rest of your people, some of them will turn to crime and need to be stopped. But also like the rest of your people, many of them love you and are happy to serve you as their king. We just want peace. We're asking for the same justice as the rest of your people. Because we are all the same, Arthur; all just people, whether we have magic or not. And those of us in Camelot, we are all _your_ people."

There was a moment of silence in which neither of them moved, Merlin studying Arthur to gauge his reaction and Arthur studying Merlin in turn, contemplating his response.

The first time they'd met, Arthur had had Merlin arrested. Ironic, considering where their long and tumultuous relationship had now taken them.

The second time, he could have had Merlin arrested, but refrained. He knew his father would have had him arrested without a moment's hesitation and would have forgotten him a moment later, but Arthur hadn't been able to, had instead intervened when the guards had arrived and had him released, and he hadn't entirely been sure why. At the time, he'd told Merlin that there was just something about him that he couldn't put his finger on.

He thought he might have figured it out now.

All his life, Arthur had been surrounded by people who called themselves his friends and all his life all of those people had always sought to use him for something. They wanted money or lands or other rewards for being a "friend to the Crown." Or they wanted political favor. Or they wanted the opportunities that came to knights who were friends of the Crown Prince to go on glorious quests and make a name for themselves. Or they wanted him to marry their daughters or sisters or cousins. Or perhaps they hadn't wanted anything specific, just whatever benefits would eventually come their way through their association with him.

But Merlin had never shown any sign of wanting anything like that. He'd never even seemed to realize that he could potentially gain something from an association with Arthur other than Arthur himself. He hadn't even wanted the "honor" of being his manservant at first, which was the closest to the other favors that a peasant could usually get. In consequence, he'd never been the bootlicker the others had been, and Arthur thought that might have been what had initially drawn his attention.

But that was not the only "something" about Merlin, he recognized. Merlin was unfailingly loyal. Merlin was annoyingly cheerful. Merlin was sacrificially selfless. Merlin was wise and compassionate and brave. Merlin was a challenge and a riddle, but could always be counted on to know the right thing to do and to do it without hesitation. Merlin was the only sorcerer to ever reveal himself and, instead of demanding or claiming something for himself, passionately plead for Arthur to save others.

Merlin was an example of what sorcerers could be, proof of his own claims about the nature of magic, and if such a sorcerer could exist, then maybe putting all magic-users to death wasn't justice after all. Maybe magic-users deserved to be treated the same as any other citizen of Camelot. Maybe he'd have to consider making some changes.

* * *

 _"_ _God help the outcasts, children of God."_

* * *

 **So this is what happens when you've been obsessing over** ** _Merlin_** **and hear "God Help the Outcasts." Reviews and critiques would be much appreciated as I am always trying to improve. Thanks for reading!**

 **Have a fantastic day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


	2. Research and Realizations

**I originally posted the first chapter of this story as a one-shot, with a vague idea in my head of what would happen after. But then several people asked me what happened next and I couldn't stop thinking about it, so here's chapter two. Dedicated to Candle-Lit Dreams (the first reviewer for my story), SpangleyPony, wrtyter501, and that guest reviewer who said "I GET SO TIRED OF THESE STORIES WHERE YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT AND ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY LEAVE MERLIN IN SOME DUNGEON!" And of course, 1917farmgirl who has been constantly pushing me to keep at it with this story.**

 **Edited chapter uploaded 8/4/18.**

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 **DAYS 1-7:**

When Arthur turned abruptly on his heel and left the dungeons without giving the captive sorcerer even a hint as to whether or not he had listened to his selfless request, it wasn't _just_ because he was still angry with him. It wasn't even just because he hated to show that he was uncertain or conflicted in any way in front of anybody because he was the _king_ and kings _never_ second-guess themselves. Though both of those factored in, the biggest reason he kept an impassive expression until he was far away from the dungeons was that _as_ king, he owed it to his people—to _all_ of his people, on both sides of this issue—to make a logical and unbiased decision on the issue of magic uncomplicated by emotional issues like Merlin.

If he had showed any kind of response to Merlin, the sorcerer would have reacted and Arthur was willing to admit—just to himself—that those reactions would have swayed him. Plus, if he were to be _completely_ honest with himself, he didn't want to get the younger man's hopes up in case he couldn't honor his request.

He had decided two things in that cell and intended to act on them immediately.

The first, was that the issue of magic needed to be re-examined. Merlin claimed to have been born with magic and yet even now was showing himself to be the most selfless person Arthur had ever known. Even now that he stood facing death, he still proclaimed his loyalty to Arthur alone. Merlin alone would have been sufficient reason to re-examine his beliefs and laws concerning magic, but the sorcerer had also put forth several valid points in regards to others affected by these laws. Arthur was determined to see justice for all, even if in the end he had to tear down his father's legacy to do it.

The second was that he needed to know more on the subject before he made any decisions either for or against the current laws regarding magic. He was very aware that he did not know much about the subject of magic in general; his father's rigid and absolute hatred of anything even vaguely connected to magic had left conversations on the topic scarce and education non-existent. He also knew that he needed to get his information on the subject from as many different sources as possible: Merlin was sure to be biased, Gaius likely would be as well, and so many of his people would have had some sort of experience with magic that would bias them that he was certain there wasn't an entirely unbiased person in the kingdom; of course, any information he'd gotten in the past from his father was biased as well, though Arthur admitted he didn't actually know why. He decided right away that before he spoke with any people and learned about magic through the prism of their individual biases, he would have to find a way to gain some general knowledge about magic and the time before the Purge when it was free, as well as the Purge itself—why it started, how the early days were conducted, that sort of thing. To that end, he strode directly from Merlin's cell to the castle library.

Geoffrey, the ancient librarian, looked up when the king entered and rose to bow. "Good evening, sire." Was it evening already? Arthur hadn't noticed. "What can I do for you?"

Arthur had never been the most attentive student, and therefore not a favorite of Geoffrey's. That combined with the nature of his visit, strove to make the entire exchange supremely awkward for him. He knew he would need Geoffrey's help, but he wasn't entirely sure how to go about getting exactly what he needed without being suspicious or alarming anybody. He knew as well as anyone how fast information spread throughout the castle and he knew this particular subject would spread even faster than most; he also knew that well-meaning citizens would feel the need to meddle in his information gathering process by putting in their opinions without even knowing exactly what he was considering, either concerned or curious, and possibly just repeating his father's beliefs whole-sale. He knew that he didn't want this particular rumor to get started at all.

"I would like some records delivered to my chambers," he said with authority, hoping that somehow that would be enough, though he knew it likely wouldn't.

"Of course, sire." Arthur nearly grinned in relief. "What is it you would like?"

Ah. There was no way around it then.

Drawing himself up to his most commanding stance, he said solemnly, "Geoffrey, I trust I can count on your discretion." The elderly scribe hastened to assure him that he could, as expected, and Arthur continued, "The nature of this discussion and the subject I wish to study must go no further than the two of us." Again, Geoffrey nodded and murmured assurances. "Are we alone here?"

Geoffrey nodded gravely and Arthur gave him a measuring look, judging him suitably impressed with the seriousness of the situation after a moment.

"It has come to my attention," Arthur began, more hushed than he usually was when using his official voice, "that I do not have a full understanding when it comes to the issue of magic. I wish to rectify that." To his credit, Geoffrey barely showed any surprise. Arthur continued, "I thought to begin with the court records of the period immediately before the Great Purge up through the first few years of the Purge itself, particularly anything pertaining to the laws about magic, crimes committed and the sentences rendered, that sort of thing. Plus, any information you might have about magic itself, or anything else here that you think might be of use."

Geoffrey was nodding along as Arthur spoke, his eyes darting back and forth between the king and various shelves with a calculating look, as though he were mentally locating the information the king wanted even as it was described to him. Once Arthur had finished speaking, there was a moment of thoughtful silence before the librarian turned his full attention back to the young king.

"I can have the court records gathered and delivered to your chambers within the hour, sire, but the rest will take more time to gather; I'm not sure how long. I'll send boys I've hired before that I know can't read and can be very discrete."

"Thank you, Geoffrey. Take as much time as you need: I'm sure the records will keep me occupied for quite some time; just send the rest as you're ready." He hesitated for a moment, uncertain, then turned to leave, but was stopped when Geoffrey called out to him.

"Sire," Geoffrey spoke quickly; Arthur turned back. "If you have any questions beyond what is contained in the sources I can gather . . . " Geoffrey hesitated, and Arthur waited patiently. "Well, I have held this office since before the Great Purge, you know, sire."

Arthur smiled, as much to calm the older man's nerves as in gratitude for the implied offer. "Thank you, Geoffrey. We shall see what is required."

Watching the young king leave, Geoffrey wasn't sure for whom he'd made that offer: for the young king who was about to learn the painful truths he himself had faithfully recorded in a vain attempt to drown the blood in ink; for Gaius, his old friend who was deeply concerned for his boy and connected to magic himself; for the boy himself, whom Geoffrey had watched sacrifice so much time and effort for Camelot, some of it within his own library, and whom he'd grown a bit fond of, though he'd deny it. Or maybe for himself, for the hope he felt when he saw how different the younger Pendragon was to his father.

He'd seen something in Arthur—today more than ever—that he'd never seen in Uther, though he'd once despaired of ever seeing it in Arthur, either, when the boy was younger: a willingness to learn, to change, to grow, to be a better king. An acknowledgement that he _needed_ such, that he was lacking in some area or other and needed improvement. An admission that he may even be wrong.

The desire to do right by his people regardless of the effort it took.

And he did put effort in.

It took Arthur an entire week to read, study, and absorb the information Geoffrey sent him.

A week in which he'd left the knights to Sir Leon and the council to Geoffrey and performed the bare minimum of his administrative duties.

A week in which he spent every waking moment alternately poring over the books and scrolls and considering the information he found there.

A week spent studying while he ate, of staying up late into the night and rising early in the morning or never going to bed at all.

A week in which the entire castle, and then the entire town, gradually came to realize that _something_ was happening; a week in which the people held their breaths and maintained their wondering silence in anticipation of what Arthur would do next.

To Guinevere alone the diligent king confessed his true purpose: to discover if the current laws against magic were truly just. He told her that the issue of Merlin would be a separate matter, and one he was not yet ready to discuss. But he did not confide beyond that, even to her, did not tell her what he'd read or the thoughts and opinions he was forming; Guinevere was wise, but this was something he needed to learn on his own before hearing _anyone_ else.

But once he was satisfied with the information he had learned from all that Geoffrey's library had to offer, she was the first he'd turned to.

They'd barely spoken since that first day, hadn't shared a bed since the second, when she realized how his sleeping habits were being affected, so when he emerged into the sunlight at the top of the main steps to the citadel and finally saw her, free of the distraction of his studies, he found himself staring as though he hadn't seen her in ages.

She was absolutely breathtaking, as always.

She had been out in the town, among the people, and the combination of her smile and the sunlight made her glow radiantly—at least to his eyes—and he found the warmth of it drawing him in irresistibly. Her hair was up, but a few wild curls escaped in every direction, and he longed to play with them as he held her close and forgot everything but her. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to allow her warmth to melt away all the stress of this decision and make it absolutely clear what should be done.

When she saw him, she crossed to him instantly, one arm extended as she said his name. He'd been half-afraid that she'd been angry with him this past week—for locking Merlin away or for effectively locking her out or both—but she spoke with nothing but love and pleasure to see him in her voice and her smile stayed as free and open as it had been before and he knew she understood.

Guinevere always understood him, better than he understood himself sometimes, and she loved him anyway.

He couldn't imagine not ever having married this wonderful woman and realized that she herself was another example that his father had been wrong in some things, as he may have been wrong about magic. Because how could it ever be wrong to take such a wise and compassionate queen? How could her father's occupation matter more than that?

"Guinevere, my love," he asked as he met her halfway down the steps and took her hand in his, "have you some time to spare me?"

Her smile turned fond. "Always, Arthur."

He smiled back, hoping she saw his love and gratitude in the gesture, and drew her arm into his to lead her back up the steps and through the citadel to his chambers in easy silence. Only once they'd arrived and he'd closed the doors behind them to ensure their privacy did he finally speak.

"Guinevere . . ." Now that he was looking at her face to face in a private setting, his carefully thought out speech fled and he pulled her into his arms for a brief but passionate kiss. His queen returned his affection, then waited patiently as he drew himself back to the initial reason for their meeting. "I'm still not ready to discuss Merlin," he finally blurted without quite meeting her eyes; she didn't withdraw her hand from his arm or step away and he took encouragement from that. "I wanted to share what I've learned with you, though, and hear your thoughts on the subject of magic." Then he added, just to be sure, "Separate from Merlin."

He finally met his wife's eyes and saw that she had raised an eyebrow; now that he was looking, she pointedly turned to regard the books and scrolls still scattered over the bed and table and desk and stacked in chairs. Then she turned back and studied Arthur himself, eyebrow still raised.

"Am I correct in thinking this is likely to be a long conversation?" she asked.

He admitted that she was correct and the eyebrow finally came down and settled in a gentle, but determined, expression.

"Then perhaps now is not the best time?" she suggested. He made to protest, but she continued with a gentle squeeze to his arm, "You're not going to be at your best if you haven't had enough rest and food and time, Arthur, and you'll have a more difficult time than necessary carrying the conversation and run the risk of collapsing halfway through. Why don't you lie down and rest first, then you can bathe and we'll have dinner together?" That did sound appealing . . . "We can spend the whole evening talking together once you're better rested and better prepared."

He wanted to protest, because he was anxious to gather as much information as possible and get this decision done and over with once and for all, but he saw the wisdom of the suggestion. Rushing this decision and gathering information while in a state where he is less than able to fully understand it would only do more harm than good; delaying it was only likely to really affect Merlin, who would most likely agree with Guinevere that it was important for Arthur to rest and eat. Merlin had always advised Arthur to take the extra time to think as long as needed before making important decisions so that he could be sure of doing the best thing for his people, and of course to rest when needed rather than working himself to the point of exhaustion for Arthur's own sake, and that likely wouldn't change just because Merlin was in the dungeons; Arthur was very aware, perhaps now more than ever, that Merlin had always put Arthur's needs and those of Camelot before his own.

He relented and allowed Guinevere to help him into more comfortable sleeping attire and then into bed, once they'd cleared away the scrolls and books. She left with a promise to send someone up with bath water in plenty of time for him to finish before dinner; she'd laughed at his plea for "Someone _not_ annoying this time, Guinevere, _please_ ," and he fell deeply asleep right away with that musical laugh still ringing in his ears.

And woke what seemed like seconds later to an entirely different ringing sound, one he vaguely registered as something metal having been dropped on the stone floor. He'd slept too deeply, though, to be fully awake so quickly, so he bellowed without thinking, "Merlin, what on _earth_ are you doing?"

"I-I'm sorry, s-sire," responded a voice that was entirely too meek to be Merlin and Arthur finally woke up, rolling over and sitting up quickly as the voice continued, "Th-the queen sent me to d-draw up your bath, s-sire. I—I d-dropped the tub."

Now that he was actually awake and sitting up, Arthur could see that it was a young boy, younger than himself by at least a decade, shaking slightly as he stared at the floor with his hands clasped behind his back. Arthur hated when people were afraid of him for no reason; Merlin had never been afraid of him, even when he _had_ reason. Arthur sighed.

"No harm done," he assured the boy, "you just startled me." The boy risked a quick glance in his general direction, but remained frozen in place. "I needed to wake up anyway. Besides," he added jokingly, "at least the tub landed right side up."

He wasn't sure whether he actually heard the muffled snort or not, but the boy moved easily back to his work, so Arthur counted it a victory.

He was just finishing his bath when Guinevere arrived. She dismissed the boy and attended him herself as he dressed, and when he came out from behind the changing screen he found that she'd tidied up the mess that had taken over his chambers and cleared a place at one end of the table for them to eat the meal that was just arriving as well, apparently at her request.

And he was fully rested and much better prepared to have this conversation than he had been the first time, just as she'd predicted.

He really was so grateful to have her at his side; she thought of everything. He had no idea how his father had survived so long with the duties of the crown and no queen.

And then he realized that perhaps his father hadn't quite survived without a queen. Or not well, anyway: he'd recently learned that the Purge had started just after the death of his mother and he suspected her death may have even been the cause.

And he was left to wonder what he himself might do if—God forbid!—he ever suffered the loss of his own queen. What would he be without her? Would he be capable of the same things as his father? Would he become as cold and callous? He hoped not, but he knew himself capable of some of those things already: he had hunted sorcerers, slaughtered entire druid camps, had tormented poor servants like Merlin and the boy who'd drawn his bath just because he could—no, not _like_ Merlin, he'd tormented _Merlin_. For years.

In the wake of this realization, he determined that he would always strive to be a king that Guinevere would be proud of, regardless of whether she were with him or not. That he would be the king she—and Merlin—had always believed him capable of being. He determined, more than ever, to seek justice for all of his people and to never lose sight of that goal.

And he felt something else stirring alongside that determination: in that moment, for the first time since he had learned the horrid details of the Great Purge, he felt something other than anger and grief and a burgeoning, confused hatred for his father—instead, he felt sympathy. He felt a hope that one day he might be able to make peace with who his father had been and everything he had done.

And he turned to his dinner with Guinevere with a lighter heart than he'd had in days.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading through to the end! As always, reviews, critiques, and constructive criticism are welcome; I am always looking to improve.**

 **Have a magical day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


	3. The Wisdom of Guinevere

**Edited chapter uploaded 8/4/18.**

* * *

 **DAY 7:**

During Arthur's meal with Guinevere, they didn't talk about magic at all, only chatted comfortably about how Guinevere had spent the past week and the gossip around the kingdom; she tactfully never mentioned Merlin, though Arthur suspected the difficulty she had avoiding that particular subject, as he knew the sorcerer likely figured into both Guinevere's time and Camelot gossip rather heavily. Time and normal conversation served to further lesson the weight that had settled over him the moment he had realized the truth of Merlin's magic, and he may have even thought the past week to be a dream, but for the rather obvious holes both in Guinevere's chatter and at his side where his most loyal friend should have been.

And then the meal ended and the atmosphere grew serious once again. He began by summarizing the information he'd gained from his studies over the past week; he did not share his opinions on the matter of magic or the history he'd discovered to be different than he had previously thought, merely stated facts. When he had finished, he asked Guinevere her thoughts and opinions.

She drew in a deep breath as she gathered her thoughts. "I suppose, in fairness, I should start with a confession." Her eyes never wavered from his and she didn't actually look at all guilty, so Arthur figured he didn't have any reason to be terribly worried. "This is not the first time I've questioned whether magic was evil as we've always been taught, and I have long had reason to believe that it is not." She paused to take in his surprise, but still didn't waver; he hadn't thought she would so readily come to that conclusion, after she had lost her father to magic and had seen what Morgana had become. But then he supposed she had really lost her father to his own father's prejudice against magic, rather than magic itself. He did wonder for a moment what had made her come to such an unusual conclusion, but then she continued, "Because I have suspected that Merlin had magic for several years now."

She paused again, and this time he suspected it was more for his benefit, in case he wanted to say something. But he really had no idea what to say to that, or to anything she had just revealed, so he simply made a gesture for her to go on.

She pursed her lips at his silence, then said, "Arthur, I know you're not ready to talk about him yet, but that's where my opinions on magic started. Just listen, Arthur, please."

He gave her a small smile and a nod to show that he understood and to encourage her to go on.

"Do you remember the plague that swept Camelot a few years ago?" He nodded again. "My father got sick, and then he got better, and you discovered that he'd been healed by magic." Again, he nodded; he remembered that very well: Guinevere and Merlin had both nearly died and it had been his fault. Guinevere continued, "Merlin knew already. That he'd been healed. He asked me first thing that morning if my father was doing any better, even though everyone else who'd gotten sick had only gotten worse and I hadn't told anyone; he said he could tell because I looked happy, but I didn't really believe him. And then after I'd been arrested, he confessed, said he'd used magic to heal my father. I wondered a bit, then, but I didn't really believe him any more than anyone else did, because how could _Merlin_ use something as evil as magic? But then the idea wouldn't really go away, because was it really that evil if it had saved my father's life? And wouldn't that be just like Merlin, if he did have magic, to use it for something like that.

"But it was dangerous to think like that, especially after having been so recently accused of witchcraft myself, and I wanted to put the whole thing behind me, so I ignored the thought. Until he drank that poison—do you remember?"

"He saved my life," Arthur added with another nod.

"Yes," Guinevere smiled and said in a teasing tone, "and then you went on a dangerous quest to save his." Her tone became thoughtful again as she continued her story. "The whole time you were gone, he kept muttering. Strange words I'd never heard before. Gaius kept trying to excuse it, but he wouldn't leave me alone with Merlin and he kept finding excuses to send me out of the room. He kept calling out for you, too, Merlin did, in between the other words, telling you to watch out and not listen to somebody and things like that, almost as if he knew what you were doing.

"It was all very strange and my suspicions from before suddenly came back to mind, plus all these little things from all the time I'd known him. The first time we met he told me he was in disguise. Then he disarmed you in the market place somehow. Then, when you were facing that knight with the snakes that came alive on his shield, he said he had an idea how to help and needed to borrow a stone dog from the courtyard for a reason he wouldn't say, really, and then everything somehow worked out alright—the knight who'd managed to keep his magic shield secret for the whole tournament suddenly decided to bring the snakes out in front of the entire audience, including the king; that whole thing suddenly made a lot more sense if you considered that Merlin had magic.

"And then you came back alright and Morgana said someone with magic had helped you and I _knew_.

"But at the same time that I realized he had magic, I also realized that he had used it to help people, more than once. Of course he had, because it was _Merlin_ , and that's what he _would_ do with _any_ kind of power. And that's what I realized magic was, Arthur, power. Not good or evil in and of itself, but a power that could be wielded according to the will of whoever held it.

"And then there were more. More people who had magic and were brought to court for doing things like healing and helping crops to grow. Things that were helping instead of causing harm, and that only made my beliefs about magic more firm. Because if you accepted magic as a power or a skill or a tool, and you judged those who used it by the same standards as you would anyone else, then there was more than enough proof that magic wasn't evil.

"But I also know as well as anyone else that it can be _used_ for evil. That it can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Morgana _alone_ is proof of that, and there have been so many more over the years."

She paused to gather her thoughts once more.

"Arthur, the question you are considering is not only the nature of magic itself, but the laws about magic and whether they should be repealed or altered or let stand as is. I believe I have thoroughly expressed my opinions on the nature of magic; as far as the law is concerned, I do not believe those with magic should be judged any differently than those without. I believe that to do so would be morally wrong on our part. However, I understand that most in the kingdom have not had the privilege of witnessing good magic, and many have even been harmed by it instead; true equality, at least right away, may not be possible. Do you remember when your father called the witchfinder Aredian a few years ago? He did so because an ordinary woman had seen smoke in an unnatural shape—completely harmless, even amusing magic—and had been frightened enough simply at the fact that it was _magic_ to run straight to the king, still shaking. That kind of attitude toward magic—terror, distrust, hatred even—is likely wide-spread, especially in those born after the Purge began, and such an attitude is unlikely to fade quickly after so many years of encouragement, whether you declare magic legal or not. So whatever you do, Arthur, be careful with it."

After Arthur was satisfied that Guinevere had spoken her full heart, the conversation became more two-sided as they debated various options for the law and discussed memories pertaining to magic that they each had. The conversation lasted well into the night and both were completely exhausted when they finally retired, in spite of Arthur's earlier rest, but they were also content that they each fully knew their own and each other's minds concerning magic.

However, once the last candle had been put out and the deep, contented sort of silence that usually preceded sleep had fallen over their chambers, Arthur found that there was still one thing he wasn't quite satisfied on. "Guinevere?" he murmured into the darkness.

"Hmm?" She sounded as though she were on the brink of sleep and he almost waited until morning to ask, but he knew he wouldn't get any sleep until he was satisfied and Guinevere would likely scold him for going another night without rest.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally blurted. "About Merlin's magic." He paused. "Or Morgana, for that matter. Unless you told her?"

"I didn't tell Morgana," she assured absently. "As far as I know, she's unaware of his magic." She paused. "Well, maybe not anymore."

When no further answer seemed forthcoming, his stomach clenched even further. "Did you think I would turn him over to my father?" he asked softly, hating the way his voice sounded so young as he said it.

He heard her sigh and felt her shift to face him. She placed a hand on his chest as though to reassure him; part of him was grateful that she knew him so well, but part of him still hated that he needed that. "No," she said emphatically, and he wondered if she could feel his body relax into the mattress as acutely as he could, "I didn't think you would turn him over to your father and that's part of the reason I didn't tell you. I suspect it's part of the reason Merlin didn't tell you as well. Because knowing something like this under your father's reign was a terrible burden to bear, Arthur, and I know neither of us would ever wish you to have to bear it. Knowing about Merlin's magic—having that secret means constantly worrying over him, everything he does and everyone he meets; it means knowing that he's suffering and afraid and having to always hide that, and it means you having to hide how that makes _you_ feel, how sad and concerned; it means having to hide things from everyone around you, even those closest to you, all the time. It's listening to people say terrible things about magic and sorcerers, sometimes right in front of him, and not being able to speak up and defend him. It's imagining him in the place of every person with magic when they face execution, seeing him in every pyre, hearing his screams every time, until there are days when even you flinch at even the sight of the smallest fire from a nearby torch." Her hand had fisted tightly against his chest as she spoke and now she relaxed it purposefully.

"And as bad as it was for me, Arthur, it would have been worse for you, because your loyalties would have been divided between Merlin and your father. Every day you would have had to consciously make the choice of one over the other, and I didn't want you to have to do that even once."

"What about after my father died?" he had to ask. "Why did neither of you tell me then?"

"Arthur," her voice was gentle, "your father had just been killed by magic. Telling you then would have hurt you terribly; more so than at any other time in your life, probably."

He suddenly remembered something he'd said that day, to Merlin: that he'd never trust magic again because he now knew for certain that it was pure evil. "And you worried about my reaction," he guessed.

"A bit," she admitted. She leaned up to kiss him. "But only immediately; I knew you'd do the right thing in the end." She kissed him again and lay back down, snuggling closer.

He couldn't help wondering what his immediate reaction would have been, though, and pondering the reaction he'd already had that had unknowingly hurt Merlin. Guinevere had said earlier that he'd suffered. How much of that had been at Arthur's hand?

Tomorrow, he would take Geoffrey up on his offer of a personal account of the time before and during the Purge, then he would talk to Gaius what magic was and how it functioned.

But then he needed to talk to Merlin.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading through to the end! As always, comments, critiques, and constructive criticisms are very welcome as I am always looking to improve.**

 **Have a stellar day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


	4. Visits to the Cells

**Usually, I leave the notes to the end, but in this case I'm a little worried about people quitting partway through to gather torches to mob either Arthur or myself. So before you do that, a couple of things to keep in mind:**

 **1\. Arthur's not afraid of fire, Merlin is, so torches are gonna backfire on you. Just sayin'.**

 **2\. Arthur firmly believes that no one is above the law, including the king and the king's best friend. That's kind of his whole schtick. And Merlin has actually broken the law in a lot more ways than just magic; lying to the king** ** _alone_** **was generally considered a serious crime, and killing someone (if you're not a knight) wouldn't be just dismissed unless you stood trial and it was declared okay. So even though Arthur cares about Merlin and wants to help him, as king he is honor-bound (and bound** ** _only_** **by honor, though that's big for Arthur) to at least have a trial and deliver** ** _some_** **punishment; Merlin knows and expects this.**

 **3\. Changing the laws on magic is a HUGE deal and a very delicate matter at the same time and has to be handled very carefully, especially if Arthur wants to avoid a backlash. Potential adverse reactions include: people taking the law into their own hands and going after sorcerers anyway, vigilante-style; the council declaring Arthur unfit to be king and appointing a replacement, who would then be responsible for deciding both the laws on magic and Merlin's fate; assassins; I'm sure there are more, but I think that covers it. Neither Merlin nor Arthur want any backlash, so they both know that Arthur has to be careful what he does; this would include his public behavior towards Merlin. The biggest concern, of course, is that people might believe Merlin has enchanted Arthur, which would be very bad for Merlin.**

 **4\. I promise the punishment isn't going to be too bad; Arthur's just making Merlin aware of the complete situation, not indicating that he is considering anything he lists here.**

 **Please don't kill me or get mad at Arthur. There's a new character at the end; get mad at him instead.**

 **Edited chapter uploaded 8/4/18.**

* * *

 **DAY 8:**

The second time Arthur approached Merlin's cell, he found the sorcerer already on his feet, straining as far as the chains would allow him to peer in the direction he must have heard Arthur coming from. Arthur dismissed the guards again, but did not enter the cell; instead he leaned against the opposite wall with his arms crossed in what he hoped was a casual manner, leaving the bars between them as a stark reminder to both of them of their separation at the moment.

Merlin, who hadn't taken his eyes off of Arthur since he'd come into sight and seemed to still be studying him intently, shuffled back a bit to a less strained position, though he still stood hunched at the very end of his chain's length. He opened his mouth to say something, and Arthur cut in before he could get a word out, voice low and commanding and dangerous.

"This is what is going to happen," he said. Merlin's mouth snapped shut and he straightened. Arthur continued, "I am going to ask you questions, sorcerer. You are going to answer them, immediately, directly, and as fully as you are capable. You are not going to speak otherwise. Is that understood?"

As Arthur had spoken, Merlin had lowered his head and clasped his hands together politely, until he stood the perfect picture of a submissive servant. Once Arthur had finished, he bowed with a quiet, respectful "Yes, sire."

Everything about this was _so wrong_.

Merlin had been a servant for almost the entire time Arthur had known him. He'd seen him in this position before—it was supposed to be his default, even—but never like this; never without so much as a hint in his posture of sarcasm or humor or anger or frustration or even that stubborn pride that had first caught Arthur's attention, certainly not like that toward _Arthur_. His father would have called this respectful, would have called it _right_ , and if he were here, he'd probably even congratulate Arthur for finally having tamed his horrible servant; but it didn't seem respectful, it certainly didn't seem right, and _Merlin shouldn't be tame_. Merlin showed his respect in his sacrifices rather than his words, in his willingness to tell Arthur the truth no matter the cost to himself, in his willing obedience in spite of his pride, in his loyalty and support rather than his silence—and that was perhaps a greater respect than any other, because it was earned and came from the heart, rather than empty gestures given simply because of the station Arthur was born with. That was the kind of respect Arthur had come to expect from Merlin, not this. This wasn't right. There was something about this version of Merlin that just seemed a little broken, and Arthur wanted to fix it somehow, or at the very least pace wildly. He definitely didn't want to go forward with his questioning, maintaining the persona of a stern king questioning a law-breaking sorcerer.

But his father had always said that a king had to do difficult things sometimes for the good of his people and he supposed this was one of those things: questioning his friend rather harshly regarding his crimes.

He wondered if his father had ever been in a situation like this before.

Right, his father.

"The accusations against my father by the sorceress Morgause, what do you know of them?" he asked Merlin, thankful he had managed to maintain his harsh tone in spite of his personal feelings; he supposed the subject matter helped a bit with that.

He could see Merlin's hesitance at the question, and in spite of himself it made him feel a little better; at least Merlin wasn't completely docile. But Merlin answered anyway, his speech slow and reluctant. "She accused your father of having caused your mother's death." He paused, swallowed and drew a sharp breath, and continued, "In his quest for an heir." Merlin paused again. "She suggested—"

"Enough," Arthur cut in. Merlin visibly sighed in relief. "What do you know of the _truth_ of these accusations?" Arthur redirected him; Merlin tensed again, shaking his head minutely, wringing his hands, and shuffling his feet.

"Sire," Merlin began, all polite in his hesitation, but a hint of warning ringing in his tone and posture. "I cannot say with certainty what happened the night of your mother's death."

"Yes, go on," Arthur instructed impatiently. Merlin braced himself.

"The spirit Morgause conjured was indeed your mother, sire, but I cannot speak as to the truth of her words. I _do_ know that the high priestess Nimueh, who was responsible for taking your mother's life, was a deceitful and wicked woman who may very well have tricked your father; I know that she tricked me in a similar circumstance."

"What else?" Arthur demanded, voice rough in his throat.

A pause. "Sire?"

"What else do you know about it, Merlin?" he said, voice rising as he spoke. "Tell me plainly everything you know for once." Merlin flinched at the angry demand and its implied accusation and Arthur lowered his voice, but kept the cool, commanding tones of before. "Tell me what you know about my mother's death, Merlin."

Merlin drew in a shaky breath and spoke softly, steadily, "Your father wanted an heir, but your mother was barren, so he turned to the sorceress Nimueh who assured him that she could deliver him a son. She claimed later that she told him at that time that a life would be required in exchange, but that he was unconcerned. She took your mother's life as the price of yours, but I don't believe your father knew the cost; I don't believe he would have gone through with it if he had."

Arthur hoped he didn't sound as young and lost as he felt when he asked, "You believe he didn't truly know what he was bargaining?" Merlin shook his head emphatically, once, and Arthur felt something inside him, something wrapped tight around his heart, uncoil just a bit.

"I bargained with Nimueh myself once, sire," Merlin explained. "She tricked me, tried to take first my mother, then Gaius. If I hadn't had magic, I wouldn't have been able to stop her. Your father—there wouldn't have been anything he could do."

"Do you know where the sorceress who killed my mother is?" Arthur asked sharply.

"Dead, sire." Arthur could hear the grim satisfaction in Merlin's voice and he nodded as he absorbed this new information—if he were reading this correctly, Merlin had met with a powerful sorceress in secret, bargained with her for something, and then killed her, probably when she turned on him.

And his father had bargained with the same sorceress because he couldn't get what he wanted.

"So my father turned to sorcery once," he mused. Merlin _twitched_.

Arthur frowned and studied the sorcerer: his knuckles were white where he clenched his right hand on the chain stretching between it and the other, the fingers of his left hand were playing determinedly with the same length of chain, and he swayed slightly where he stood; Arthur would be willing to bet that he was biting his lower lip, too, though he couldn't see from this angle.

"What am I missing, Merlin?"

Merlin cleared his throat and Arthur knew he was not going to like whatever was said next. "Sire," Merlin began carefully, "it's my understanding that Nimueh . . . was not unfamiliar with your father's court; that she may have even been a welcome visitor in the years before your mother's death. In fact, I understand there were many in court who used magic openly before the Purge, for the benefit of both your father and the people of Camelot, including Gaius." He hesitated, but Arthur could read from his posture that there was more and gestured for him to go on. "I know for a fact that your father knowingly turned to magic at least once during my time in Camelot."

"When?" Arthur demanded.

"When Morgana had fallen and was dying." Arthur made another gesture for him to continue. "He asked Gaius to use magic to save her, and later believed Gaius had done so and told him that he would help him to hide it."

"Had he?" Arthur asked carefully, not sure if he wanted the answer, or if it would make a difference anyway. "Gaius?"

"No, sire."

Arthur paused, eying the—apparently powerful—sorcerer in front of him. Then he asked, even more carefully, even less sure if he wanted the answer, "Did _you_?"

"Yes, sire," Merlin answered quietly, but without hesitation, despite the pain and regret and downright misery in his voice; Arthur had to fight the urge to put a hand on one of the thin, hunched shoulders in sympathy or voice one of the platitudes clawing at his throat.

Instead, he cleared his throat and said neutrally, "We'll deal with your actions later; for now, we're dealing with the broader issue of magic only." Merlin bowed. "When we last spoke, you asked that I reconsider the crown's stance on magic." Merlin seemed to hold his breath. "Why should I? What benefit would the freedom of magic be to my kingdom? State your case, sorcerer," he finished imperiously.

"Magic can be of great use in any number of areas, sire," Merlin answered immediately and confidently; he almost sounded like his old self, no matter how much he didn't look it, standing dirty and submissive in a cell. "Potentially all areas; I haven't personally studied enough to say for sure. The greatest benefit to the kingdom, though, would likely be in the areas of battle and healing."

Arthur considered that. "I can see that magic would make things easier or faster in many areas, but it is not _required_. In the areas of battle and healing, it may save lives, but would the number of lives saved compensate for the number of lives that may be lost if magic is allowed free reign? You have not successfully proven a _need_ for magic, let alone one that would outweigh the potential cost. Merlin, what can we _not_ do _without_ magic?"

Again, the answer was immediate and confident, and while his tone was very serious, Arthur was pleased to note a bit of sarcasm leaking through on occasion as he spoke. "Defeat magical creatures like the griffin or the questing beast, sire, or high priestesses like Nimueh or Morgause or _Morgana_ , or knights and armies that aren't really alive. Sense magical objects like the one Morgana gave you on your quest into the Perilous Lands to kill you or the ones those two bandits wore to pretend to be noblemen and get into the melee—to kill you—or that shield with the snakes the Knight Valiant was going to use to _kill you_. Heal those in situations where they would normally die, either in spite of treatment from a physician or because they could not get to one fast enough, which would be especially useful in battle." His passion had risen with every word, until he finally burst out, "If I'm not going to be around to help you, please, _get_ another _sorcerer_!"

"Stop!" Arthur barked, angry both at Merlin's almost casual mention of _not being around_ and at his deepening understanding of how much the sorcerer in front of him had done in secret to keep him alive, how much he deserved in return, and how little he'd gotten. Merlin jumped and seemed to fold in on himself at Arthur's tone, and Arthur felt even worse. He took a breath to calm himself and when he spoke again, it was with the cool, even tones of court. "You will restrict yourself to answering the questions asked of you."

He really wanted to add 'please' to the end, to let Merlin know that he wasn't angry at him anymore—hadn't been for days, actually—but he thought that if he showed even a crack in his façade right now, the entire thing would shatter beyond repair and he needed to maintain his even composure if he were going to pass the changes that he intended to pass without causing rioting in the streets. He knew Merlin would want him to put the greater good above his own comfort, and that more than anything else helped him keep the façade in place. But then Merlin bowed and said "Yes, sire" in such a quiet, shaky voice that Arthur almost missed it and he nearly broke that awful, hated mask again.

He looked away and waited a moment, breathing deeply, allowing both himself and Merlin to calm from the tense exchange and regain their composure.

Finally, he drew his eyes back to Merlin, who was twisting the chain in his hands, and asked, "Do you know any"—he really wanted to say _'other'_ and stumbled a moment in his speech—"sorcerers who are as good and loyal as you claim they can be?"

Merlin dropped the chain and folded his hands together again. "Yes, sire." he answered, still too quiet. Arthur gestured for him to elaborate, and he continued. "There are the Druids, who want nothing but peace for all people. The Catha, a religious sect that reside mostly outside Camelot's borders but, like the Druids, believe that you are destined to bring peace to all the peoples of the Five Kingdoms; unlike the Druids, they are warriors. They would assist you if you but asked." He hesitated briefly. "There are . . . _individuals_ I've come across over the years as well, people who wish for nothing more than peace and are happy for that to come under your reign."

Merlin fidgeted in the silence that followed, eyes fixed on his hands, clasped tightly together in front of him, and posture rigid, which Arthur put down to anxiety over the questioning. He decided to relieve the poor man's nerves.

He stepped away from the wall, drawing Merlin's eyes instantly, though the younger man never raised his head. "I have decided to revise the ban on magic," he announced quietly. Merlin sagged momentarily, then straightened instantly. Arthur stated more than asked, "I trust you will not share this with anyone?"

Merlin bowed again, with another quiet, shaky "Yes, sire," though Arthur suspected this time it was from relief.

"For now," Arthur explained, "the use of magic alone will not be punished by execution. In time, there will be further revisions; the goal is for magic to one day be as freely allowed as any other tool, within the laws of Camelot." Merlin's eyes closed and he breathed unevenly; Arthur thought he might be crying.

He gave Merlin another moment to process that welcome news before he moved on to his bad news. "Merlin, you will not be executed for your magic; however, that is not your only crime." Merlin nodded dejectedly. "You've lied to me—and to my father, who was king—from the very beginning. You've knowingly and willfully disobeyed the laws of Camelot. You've done both many, many times. You've already confessed to killing at least one person and I have reason to believe you were complicit in the death of my father, the late king. I cannot ignore these crimes, any one of which merits either flogging or execution on its own, the total of which . . ." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"I honestly don't know what to do with you, Merlin," he told the sorcerer who was his friend. "Tomorrow, I will be meeting with the council in regards to the changes I intend to make to the laws regarding magic; once that process is complete and things are settled with both the council and the citizenry, I will return and we shall discuss everything that you've done, both good and bad, and I will make the final decision on your punishment."

Merlin bowed silently.

"One thing I do know for certain," Arthur added, "is that I owe my life to you many times over. Your crimes cannot be ignored, Merlin, but that fact _will_ have bearing on my decision."

Merlin bowed again.

He hesitated—clenching his hands, shifting his feet, probably biting at his lip again—and Arthur waited.

Then he spoke: "Thank you, sire." Another brief hesitation, an intake of nervous breath. "If I may pray upon your mercy, your majesty, I beg your leave to speak freely."

Arthur found himself vaguely impressed that Merlin had learned such courtly manners somewhere as he gave the requested permission. At his signal, all traces of hesitance disappeared from both Merlin's voice and manner, though his voice still shook a little. "Thank you, sire, again, for revising the laws on magic; you can't know how much it means to me—to so many—or how grateful I truly am. Nor will you ever know how truly, deeply sorry I am for my deceptions; I regret lying to you more than anything, sire, and I wish with all my heart that things could have been different. And I beg you not to let your distrust for me stop you from trusting another sorcerer to protect you; you _need_ magical protection, sire, and I could never forgive myself if my mistakes stopped you from having it."

Arthur felt overwhelmed by this pale stick of a man with such a big heart. Arthur's first visit to the cells, Merlin had asked for nothing but his people's freedom; this second visit, he asked for nothing but Arthur's own safety. He said that Arthur didn't trust him, but Arthur suddenly realized that couldn't be further from the truth: he trusted Merlin as much as he ever had, more than anyone else except Guinevere. Merlin thought of himself as some sort of terrible example of his kind, but Arthur thought he was the best possible example of what any kind of man should be—selfless, brave, loyal. He wished Merlin could see himself for what he truly was, and he would have to make it clear to him at some point, but for now he swallowed the words that ached in his throat.

It did occur to him that it sounded a bit like Merlin was saying everything he needed to say for the last time, so he asked, "Are you saying goodbye, Merlin?"

Merlin seemed to consider it for a moment before answering, "I suppose I am, sire; I don't know if I'll have the opportunity again."

Shaking his head, Arthur made to leave then stopped and eyed Merlin contemplatively. "Merlin," he began slowly, "could you break out of that cell if you wanted to?"

"I wouldn't, sire," was Merlin's immediate, horrified response. He looked Arthur in the face for the first time since Arthur had walked in and began to babble desperately. "I swear to you, I have no intention of escaping. I told you I would accept whatever punishment you decide and that hasn't changed. I—"

"Merlin," Arthur finally cut in firmly, "stop babbling."

Merlin lowered his head, drew in a deep breath, and bowed with yet another quiet, shaky "Yes, sire." Arthur was _really_ starting to hate those.

Arthur paused to allow Merlin to pull himself together and turned back to face the cell and its captive more fully. "Come here," he commanded.

Merlin hesitated just a breath before looking down at the chains on his wrists, which promptly fell off. He shuffled to the door and laid a hand on it, looking at Arthur questioningly. Arthur nodded, and this time he saw the flash of gold in Merlin's eyes as the door swung open under his hand without the sorcerer even looking at it. He shuffled forward again until he stood within arm's reach of Arthur, head bowed and hands hanging loosely at his sides. He never spoke a word.

Arthur grunted: surprise at the ease of it, interest in both that and the fact that Merlin hadn't done so before, and acknowledgement and appreciation that Merlin was truly only here because he decided to be—because he was determined to submit to Arthur's judgement. The plan he had gradually been forming in his mind now crystalized.

"Now go back," he said.

Merlin's shoulder's sagged a bit—though whether it was relief or disappointment, Arthur genuinely couldn't tell—but he didn't hesitate as he shuffled back to his previous place, closing the cell door behind him and returning the manacles to his thin wrists, again without speaking a word. Arthur tried the cell door, more out of curiosity than any illusion of necessity, and found it locked; a visual inspection of the manacles showed the same.

With another grunt—interest and satisfaction—Arthur spun on his heel and strode out of the dungeons without a backward glance.

* * *

Merlin watched until Arthur was out of sight, then shuffled back to the corner and sank to the floor with his knees drawn up, contemplating the conversation he had just had with Arthur, what had happened, and what was going to happen.

He'd practically devoured the sight of Arthur from the moment he'd stepped into view, analyzing every detail again and again to satisfy himself that Arthur was truly well after a week of nothing but worrying reports that the king had shut himself up in his bedchambers and was barely speaking to even Gwen. Arthur had had his stoic king mask on that was supposed to hide his emotions and he had leaned against the wall as if he were trying to look casual; that had reassured Merlin—Arthur wouldn't have done that if he were truly disturbed about anything. The king's movements had been a bit stiff, but Arthur was used to a lot of activity and Merlin had gleaned from conversations with Gwen that he hadn't been very active this past week, so that was understandable. He could tell from the set of Arthur's shoulders and jaw that he was determined about something and maybe a little unhappy, but he seemed more at peace than he had been the last time they'd spoken, more settled, and Merlin relaxed a bit at that, content.

Then Arthur had barked out orders and called him 'sorcerer,' and Merlin's heart had sunk a bit, its fluttering churning up his gut. He complied easily enough, though, biting back his own questions and assuming a submissive posture in the hopes that it would make the questions Arthur wanted to ask and the answers Merlin knew he would have to give easier for the both of them.

And then Arthur had started with possibly the worst question he could have asked, a question that would tear his father from the pedestal Arthur had always had him on and would make him feel guilty for his mother's death both, a question that would hurt Arthur tremendously. He desperately wanted to warn Arthur away from this subject, protect him from this knowledge as he had before, but he knew already that it would be pointless because he knew _Arthur_ ; he knew from his stance and his tone that Arthur had come down here for answers and wouldn't be swayed to leave without them. And he'd been right. Arthur had pushed through all of Merlin's hesitance, all of his careful hedging, and forced out the brutal truth: that Arthur's father had been—however unintentionally—responsible for his mother's death, and that it was because of Arthur himself that the tragedy had occurred.

And then he'd confessed to secretly meeting with Nimueh, attempting to bargain with her, and ultimately killing her. He wasn't totally sure how that had been received; Arthur had seem pleased that she was dead, as expected, but also a little disturbed that Merlin had done it, and had later listed killing her as one of Merlin's crimes.

Merlin hadn't been able to completely hide his reaction when Arthur said that his father had turned to magic once, which led to more of Uther's hypocrisy spilling out-Arthur hadn't actually seemed that surprised about it, but Merlin knew it had to have hurt him still, and couldn't help the twinge of guilt for having brought it up.

That discussion had of course led to the revelation that Merlin had used magic to heal Morgana, who was now their enemy. Arthur had said they would discuss that later and Merlin was particularly not looking forward to that conversation; no, because that would involve telling Arthur that he had been the one who almost killed her, because he knew she was against them even then, and that he had healed her anyway because he was too weak to follow through with it. But as miserable as he was at that revelation and the promise of further discussion, part of him rejoiced because Arthur had said 'we' when saying they would discuss it; he hadn't cut Merlin out of his life completely, as Merlin had begun to fear the first time Arthur had called him 'sorcerer.'

And then—oh, _then_ —Arthur had given him a chance to state his case for the freedom of magic, had _asked_ him to tell him about its benefits, had even guided him to the right answer as only Arthur could do when it came to politics and the law. He'd let Merlin explain all the potential ways magic could be used for the good of the kingdom, and even, in a way, how Merlin himself had _already_ used it for the good of the kingdom. Arthur had gotten a bit angry when Merlin got carried away, but he hadn't stopped him until he'd spoken out of turn.

That had reminded Merlin of the situation he was in, though, reminded him that he was being interrogated by the king who had power over his life and not just his friend whom he was finally speaking openly with. He hadn't been able to stop the trembling of his voice when he answered, from the passion, from the pain of the separation, from the fear that Arthur would never trust another sorcerer to protect him, and from a bit of fear for himself—he was willing to die if Arthur ordered it, but that didn't mean he wasn't as frightened as he'd always been by the prospect of the pyre, didn't mean his sleep hadn't been haunted by visions of flames more than ever throughout his stay in the dungeons.

Arthur had taken a moment to compose himself and Merlin was incredibly grateful that he returned to the subject and allowed Merlin a chance to continue his case for magic, by asking about sorcerers who were good and loyal to him, rather than leaving in anger or berating Merlin for all of his failings, both in this conversation and in general.

And then everything had fallen away—every pain, every anxiety, every fear, every worry—it had all fallen away as the dream he had hoped and wished and worked for for as long as he could remember finally came true: Arthur said that magic was going to be free. Merlin's heart soared at the words and he felt as if it were still floating now at the mere remembrance of them, in spite of anything else that had happened. Arthur had even used the word 'trust' when he was telling Merlin, seeming certain that he could trust Merlin to keep his confidence even now. Merlin had cried a bit at the news, at the little bit of trust that Arthur had shown him, and he thought, once his thoughts had settled and he'd actually processed everything that had happened today, that he'd probably cry even more, but there had never been happier tears shed.

Not even the bad news that had come after could completely dampen his joy, his utter relief. Arthur had achieved his destiny and Merlin's work was done; he could die complete and satisfied now.

Arthur had talked about Merlin's crimes at the end. Merlin knew he'd done things that couldn't be forgiven—Arthur didn't even know the half of it yet and even he knew that—so he wasn't surprised when Arthur said as much. He wasn't surprised that Arthur was conflicted about his punishment, either; Arthur had always had trouble with harsher punishments because he had too kind a heart: there were many times throughout their years together when he could have rightfully inflicted harsher punishments on Merlin—flogging, banishment, maybe even execution once or twice—but he'd never done anything other than send him to the stocks for a few hours or assign him the worst chores, and even the stocks had been used less frequently as time passed. Nor did it surprise him that Arthur wanted to question him more completely or that he had said that the fact that Merlin had saved his life would have some bearing on his punishment; Arthur had been a prince, and was now a king, who was torn between the law and custom and his own heart and sense of justice, and while the law might condemn him, Arthur's sense of justice would incline him to return one good deed with another.

Regardless of the punishment that awaited him, though, Merlin knew that once Arthur became aware of all that he had done there was a distinct possibility that he would never listen to a thing Merlin had to say ever again, and so he'd had to speak, to truly bare his heart to Arthur for the first and possibly last time.

Arthur had taken it as the goodbye that it probably was, but seemed to think that Merlin had said it because he intended to escape; he'd even tested Merlin's ability to escape and Merlin hadn't been sure what Arthur was going to do with him once he emerged from his cell. Was he going to insist on harsher accommodations to ensure that Merlin stayed? Was he going to punish him to make him too weak to escape and crush any idea of escape simultaneously? Punish him for the use of magic? A small part of him wondered what Arthur was thinking after seeing Merlin use magic for the first time. The thought crossed his mind that it had to have occurred to Arthur that he could escape from here as easily as anywhere else and his heart felt a vague inclination to hope that Arthur might let him out until he handed down Merlin's punishment, that he would trust him to stay put anywhere else as he had here. He'd held his breath, tried to look non-threatening. But then Arthur had simply told him to go back and he was even more confused than before.

He had no idea what was going to happen next.

He wondered what Gwen thought of all this.

She'd been visiting him at least once a day since his imprisonment began, chatting about anything and everything and bringing him food and messages from Gaius, but she hadn't been in today and he suspected that was because of Arthur's visit. She had said at her last visit that she and Arthur were having dinner that night and he'd be willing to wager she knew more or less what Arthur had come here for; Arthur would never make a decision on an issue as large as magic without talking it over with Gwen first, both to clarify his own thoughts on the matter through the discussion and to get her input.

During her previous visits, she'd expressed her opinions openly on the matter so far: frustration that Merlin was still in the cells, confidence that he would be released once Arthur had made his final decision, faith that he and Arthur would work this out, concern for Arthur as he'd holed himself up in his chambers and for Merlin as she considered the people's response to the truth of his magic and for Gaius as he worried for Merlin and missed him and his help both. But she hadn't given an opinion on the conversation that she had known as well as Merlin had been coming that night. He hadn't expressed his own worries and doubts about the resolution of this situation, either, but she'd seen them anyway and scolded him to have a little faith both in Arthur and in what he himself meant to his friend and king.

He'd thought he must be slipping if she was able to see through him that clearly, but then he'd never been able to hide much from Gwen—too smart and compassionate both to be anything other than perceptive—and recently he'd discovered that he'd hidden even less than he'd thought over the past several years: she'd told him the first time she'd visited that she'd known about his magic almost from the beginning.

He had been so wary that first visit, he remembered, so concerned that he'd lost her friendship to his magic, as she'd lost her father and her best friend to magic and suffered so much else besides. But she'd laughed, reaching through the bars of his cell as though she could touch him if she tried hard enough and telling him not to worry—never to worry about her—because she'd already known and accepted it and knew that it didn't make him anything other than the good man and true friend that he'd always been. He'd clung to those words, and the bright, warm smile that had accompanied them, these long days in the cells, turning them over and over in his mind in his darkest hours and warming himself with their light.

It had been such a relief to be able to be open with Gwen, especially during this difficult time of uncertainty and separation from Arthur. To tell her about the things he'd done since coming to Camelot, the trials and the triumphs both, without any secrets. He told her about Freya. He told her how hard it had been to keep things from Arthur all these years and he told her why he'd done it for as long as he had. He told her about his hopes and dreams for the future. He talked about Arthur and his concern that he'd broken that relationship irreparably.

She'd listened to everything without judgment, commiserating in his failures and heartaches, rejoicing in his victories, and comforting him in his losses and worries. She'd asked thoughtful questions and shared her memories of events, often made comical by the partial information she had been privy to. She'd told him why she'd kept her knowledge of his magic secret even from him: she hadn't wanted him to worry for her, either that she would be in danger from Uther or that her relationship with Arthur would be affected, and hadn't wanted to talk with him about it before he was ready.

He'd thanked her at every visit, repeatedly and passionately, for her care for him over the years and now that he was imprisoned, and sent a thought of thanks her way as he was thinking of her now.

He wondered what she and Arthur were up to right now. The sky had darkened not long after Arthur had left, so it was possible they were having dinner now, maybe even discussing him and his conversation with Arthur. He wondered how that was going, whether Arthur was avoiding discussing his punishment with Gwen because he knew her thoughts on the matter or Gwen was avoiding the same topic because it hurt her to think of it, whether they were comparing notes on what they'd learned from conversations with him. For a while, he amused himself imagining the conversation in as detailed a manner as possible, down to each bite of food and the exact cant of Gwen's eyebrow, and both his heart and stomach longed to be there with them.

His musings were brought to a halt at the sound of booted steps coming his way, and he suddenly realized with growing dread that the guard had changed and the night watch was on duty.

"Hello, sorcerer," a voice rang out as his regular night guard appeared in his line of sight. "Heard his majesty paid you a visit again." The man grinned evilly, reaching for the door with the keys already in his extended hand. "Did you have a nice chat?" Merlin, wide-eyed, didn't respond and the man grinned wider. "You didn't do anything stupid, did you?"

As the door opened with an ominous shriek, Merlin swallowed roughly and tucked himself smaller in his corner, frantically shaking his head.

The man laughed. "I don't believe you, you lying little rat. I think it's our turn to have a chat, you and me, hm?"

* * *

 **I'm sorry. I really am.**

* * *

 **Thanks for reading? As always, comments, critiques, and constructive criticisms are more than welcome as I am always looking to improve.**

 **Have a magnificent day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


	5. Council Meeting

**Edited chapter uploaded 8/4/18.**

* * *

 **DAY 9:**

Merlin was awake and stumbling to his feet, bouncing blindly off the walls on either side of him and fighting his way out of the corner he'd been curled up in, before he consciously registered the sound of the alarm bells.

He crossed to the window set high in the back wall of his cell, tripping groggily over his chains as he went, but could see nothing except grey sky and a sliver of the parapets on the other side of the courtyard and hear nothing from outside but the alarm bells and the occasional indistinguishable shout. It had been afternoon the last time he'd looked out and he hadn't been woken by a changing of the guards, so it was probably evening now; he wondered if Arthur was still in the council meeting he'd mentioned yesterday or if he'd gone to dinner with Gwen yet and debated the comparative safety of both options. Surely, there would be more uproar if it were something serious, some danger to Arthur; it might just be an escaped prisoner or a fire in the lower town. Arthur would probably still get involved, the idiot, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Growling in frustration, Merlin turned the other way and strained as far as his chains would allow him to peer down the hallway that crossed in front of his cell. The wall there looked no different than the wall directly across from him; no new information from that quarter either.

He continued staring vainly in that direction, though, absent-mindedly taking in the flicker of torchlight and the trickle of liquid down his back from a freshly opened wound, until he was finally rewarded by new information from another sense: he could hear a commotion approximately where the guard station was, followed by what sounded distinctly like heavily booted feet stomping quickly up the stairs and away from the cells, then silence.

He blinked.

After a moment of continuous silence in which Merlin nearly held his breath, he tentatively called out, "Hello?"

No approaching booted feet, no sharp reprimand to remain silent, no sound of any kind. Fingers worrying at the links of his chain, he dared to try again, a little louder. "Hello?"

Same result.

Had they left him _alone_? A sorcerer imprisoned and awaiting the king's sentencing, left unguarded in the dungeons?

What was going on?

He started to panic, certain that something must be seriously wrong out there for them to consider whatever it was a bigger threat than him—he was the sorcerer who'd gotten close to the king, a slippery, horrible, dangerous fellow, as he'd been constantly reminded since he'd begun his stay in this cell, and therefore considered by most a huge threat. Arthur might be in more danger than he'd thought.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing and _think_.

The familiar clanking of metal boots that meant guards drew his attention back to the window.

The speed at which they seemed to be moving drew a matching speed from him.

Leon's shout drew Merlin's entire world to a halt—"To the council chambers! They're going after the King!"

Within a stuttering heartbeat, Merlin was turning away from the window, chains already dropping from his wrists and the door unlocking and flying open with a crash. His only thought as he flew from the cell and up out of the dungeons was _Arthur!_

He didn't feel the fresh air that he hadn't felt in over a week or the pulling of his wounds screaming for attention, didn't see the familiar white walls of the citadel or the absence of its equally familiar inhabitants, didn't pause or slow at all until he was within sight of the rear servant's entrance to the council chambers. Instinct had driven him there rather than the large front doors as a more likely avenue to be able to gain the advantage of surprise, and he slowed as he approached, slipping stealthily down the corridor, braced against the wall and listening carefully.

He heard nothing coming from inside the chambers as he approached— _This is bad,_ he thought. _Arthur wouldn't be silent if he were still fighting_ —but he heard soft sounds behind him that indicated a door opening and someone stepping into the corridor as silently as possible.

He whirled, body taut and hands raised defensively, but relaxed when he saw who it was.

"Percival," Merlin breathed, lowering his arms a bit. "Where's Arthur? Do you know if he's alright?"

Percival pointed silently at the council chamber entrance over Merlin's shoulder and Merlin spun to continue his stealthy approach. He heard the knight fall into step behind him, equally quiet.

Finally reaching the door, Merlin peeked around the frame, frowning in confusion at the sight that met his worried eyes: Arthur was completely fine, standing with arms crossed and feet spread beside his chair at the head of the table and staring down the council. His body language read stressed and frustrated and impatient and maybe a bit anxious, but not worried or aggressive; he seemed more like he was engaged in verbal combat with the council than in physical combat with any sort of real danger, and he was taking care to hide his emotions behind a mask that read calm and commanding.

The rest of the council was sitting peacefully enough in their usual spots; some of the lords who were only around sometimes had joined the more regular attendees and extra chairs had been added, leaving them jostling slightly for position. The lords seemed agitated and nervous and about as patient as Arthur, some of them fidgeting nervously, eyes darting around the room and avoiding one another, though they also managed to look as bored and condescending as usual in spite of it. Geoffrey, Merlin noted, looked pleased and expectant and completely relaxed. Gaius was absent, as were Arthur's knights.

A few servants were scattered around the walls, their faces displaying the usual professional calm that Merlin was rarely able to manage, though they were tense in expectation of something.

There was no one present who was unfamiliar to Merlin. No one who seemed to be a threat. Nothing that warranted the alarms that had brought him here.

He had a few brief seconds to observe the moods within and feel his own suspicion rising, before everything changed when Percival abruptly shoved him from behind and he tripped, sprawling painfully into the room with a loud gasp. The tension rose palpably; no one looked even remotely bored now. Instead, there was naked fear on the faces of some of the lords as they jumped, startled by his sudden appearance as much as he was.

If he didn't know any better, he might think Geoffrey and Arthur were secretly laughing at him.

As he scrambled stiffly to his feet, he glanced back at Percival who was definitely laughing at him, and the big knight winked at him as he moved into position to stand guard over the door Merlin had just come through.

His fellow servants kept their faces hidden.

He looked back at the council, who were all looking either very scared or very, very angry and in his direction. Merlin knew from experience that neither would work out very well for him, and the fear he'd been feeling for Arthur since the alarm bells had woken him suddenly shifted to fear for himself.

He focused back on Arthur, once again assessing him for injury almost without realizing it, even as he ignored his own injuries in favor of focusing on current events.

"Step forward, Merlin," Arthur said in that quietly commanding voice that made his enemies shudder in fear. Merlin shuddered a bit himself.

He complied with Arthur's command instantly, but warily, eyes darting between Arthur and the rest of the room as he reluctantly approached.

Had they been waiting for _him_? The guards had left the dungeons unguarded and Leon's shout had conveniently been within hearing of his cell, and now Arthur and some of the council didn't even seem surprised by his presence. And if they _were_ waiting for him, then _why_? Did they want him here, or did they suspect that he would come? If this was a test of some kind, was he failing or passing? He spared a brief thought to what was going to happen once he returned to his cell.

He studied Arthur again: he was tense, but had otherwise retreated so far behind his emotionless mask that even Merlin couldn't tell what he was thinking now. Was Arthur angry? Had it been impatience he had seen in his king initially or something else?

His hands trembled as he finally reached the king, who still stood beside his chair, half-turned towards Merlin's approach. Merlin stopped within arm's reach and stood facing Arthur with his head bowed and his hands clasped tightly behind his back; they trembled still, in spite of the pressure.

Arthur turned away from Merlin and settled into his chair, lounging to one side so that he faced Merlin and the council equally; Merlin didn't move, every muscle in his body wound tight with terror. He did jump a little though when Arthur finally spoke, in his court voice that gave Merlin no indication of what he was thinking, but was clearly directed at him.

"Where did you just come from?"

Merlin briefly considered deflecting by indicating the servant's entrance he'd so recently been propelled through, but his continued uncertainty of the situation he was now in pushed him to answer the question he knew Arthur was actually asking. "The dungeons, sire."

He couldn't keep the trembling out of his voice, despite his best attempt, and he hated it. He hated everything about this situation. Even now, though, he still couldn't find it in himself to blame Arthur; it was funny, then, that Arthur had initially thought Merlin might be after revenge.

Arthur broke him out of his train of thought when he asked, still in the same blank voice, "And how did you get out?"

Merlin thought his heart might pound out of his chest. He fidgeted once, briefly, then barely squeaked out his guilty answer of "Magic."

"So you could have done so at any time in the past nine days. In fact, you _did_ do so yesterday, at my request. Is all of this information correct?" Merlin found himself unable to speak and nodded breathlessly. Arthur continued, "Why have you done so now?"

Merlin swallowed convulsively and forced himself to take several rapid, deep breaths. "I—" He swallowed again and cleared his throat. "I heard the alarm bells, sire."

He wasn't sure if he should continue, or if that was all the explanation Arthur wanted at the moment, but Arthur immediately asked, "Why did you come to the council chambers?"

Merlin found his breathing a little steadier now that they were on a topic that was a little easier than his escape. "There were guards outside my cell window saying you were here under attack." He really, _really_ wanted to look Arthur in the eyes, but wasn't sure that was wise right now. He risked it anyway. "I had to help."

One of the lords at the table snorted mirthlessly and Merlin's eyes dropped. "Us or them, boy?" he asked snidely.

Merlin opened his mouth, unsure if he should respond, but sensed Arthur turning to face the lord and closed it again. But then Arthur turned back to him after only a silent moment and asked, still in his court voice, "Who did you come to help?"

"You." Again, Merlin dared to meet his king's eyes, willing him to believe this if nothing else. "Always, Arthur."

He saw a flicker of something in Arthur's eyes that he didn't dare name, but for the first time since his entrance into this room, he allowed himself to hope. Then Arthur turned away towards the council again and Merlin lowered his eyes to the floor, heart heavy.

Without looking at Merlin, Arthur asked, "And if I commanded you to return to your cell, would you?"

Merlin swallowed thickly, but answered without hesitation, "Yes."

There was a moment of silence as Arthur continued to regard the council rather than Merlin. Merlin broke it by hesitantly asking, "Do-," he had to swallow again, mouth and throat dry with fear and uncertainty—"do you want me to go back?" At this point, Merlin honestly wasn't sure what answer he was hoping for.

"No," Arthur said. He still hadn't looked at Merlin, and that made Merlin fidget nervously. Arthur continued, "I'd like you to wait outside until I call you."

Arthur made a gesture as he spoke and the main doors opened, so Merlin bowed and started towards them. He had barely rounded the nearest edge of the table, giving the lords seated there a wide berth, when Arthur's voice halted him where he was.

"And Merlin?" The sorcerer who had been addressed turned and saw that Arthur was looking at him, meeting his eyes; his heart soared with hope again. "Stay within sight of the doors."

He bowed again. "Yes, sire."

Merlin wasn't at all sure what was going on.

Arthur had said to stay within sight of the doors, but whether that meant to stay where Merlin could see the doors or to stay where he could easily be seen when the doors opened, he wasn't sure. He opted for the latter to be safe, shuffling toward the far wall directly across from the door. The guards on either side of the door watched him warily, so he avoided looking at them and stayed as still and small as possible as he considered his situation.

He had become convinced already that this was a test of some sort, or possibly a demonstration for the council, given the fact that Arthur had asked questions that they both knew he already knew the answers to. What was he demonstrating though? That magic wasn't evil, or that Merlin was an unruly, disobedient prisoner? Arthur had said yesterday that today's council meeting was regarding magic, but he'd also said that Merlin still faced punishment for his crimes.

Regardless of his reasons, it was clear to Merlin that Arthur had expected and maybe even wanted him here. He had tested Merlin's ability to leave his cell yesterday and seemed to have Percival waiting for him to arrive, plus the conveniently located guards (and knight) who had subtly directed him here. It was also clear that there hadn't been a real attack, that it was a ruse to draw Merlin here; the fact that Arthur had known he would come in the event of danger was reassuring to Merlin. Unless Arthur believed as that one lord had that Merlin may have come to aid in the attack.

That's what wasn't clear in this whole thing: Arthur's thoughts. Merlin could read Arthur better than anyone, but he was having an unusually hard time with it today; he suspected Arthur was doing it on purpose because he knew how well Merlin could read him. If he had to guess, he'd say that Arthur was hiding his emotions specifically from Merlin, and he had no idea what that meant for him.

Merlin waited impatiently for Arthur to summon him, emotions swirling through him like a storm and stealing his breath as they became increasingly more worried and, if he were honest, more irrational. Finally, the doors opened; Merlin's eyes sought Arthur instantly and his heart lifted and settled a little at the sight of a brief smile.

"See, my lords," Arthur said. "A sorcerer is capable of loyalty to the throne as much as any other citizen of Camelot, and more so than some."

There were murmurs from the council in response, and Merlin found he had difficulty deciphering the general tone. He decided not to worry about them and instead focus on Arthur as he dismissed the council and called Merlin forward. By name; that was something, at least.

Merlin approached, head down and arms tucked tightly to his sides, through the throng of council members departing in the opposite direction. Some of them went out of their way to pass as far away from him as possible, but to his surprise, one of them passed close by and patted him gently on the arm. He looked up briefly to catch the slight smile on Geoffrey's face and found himself steadied by the small comfort from Gaius's old friend, even though they'd never personally gotten along.

Merlin stopped when he'd reached the head of the table, facing Arthur with his head down and hands clasped behind his back in the silent chamber. Arthur's boots scuffed on the floor and echoed in the nearly empty space as he stood and stepped closer to Merlin. He stopped just next to Merlin's right shoulder, so close that Merlin could feel the warmth radiating from him; he shivered as the warmth seeped into his bones, still chilled from nine days in a cold cell, and he thought nothing could be more welcome—until Arthur spoke.

"Merlin," Arthur began; Merlin could tell how tired he was without looking, from the sound of his voice and the fact that he'd scuffed his feet in the few steps from his chair to Merlin's side, but he was still every inch the king of Camelot as he continued in his court voice, "When I spoke with you in your cell nine days ago, you made a request: you asked that your people be granted the rights and privileges afforded all other citizens of Camelot, and that they no longer be punished simply for possessing magic. Your request has been considered and found in keeping with my intention as king to rule fairly and justly. The law has officially been revised, and we have taken the first step toward that eventuality: having magic is no longer a death sentence." As Arthur finished with the words Merlin had longed to hear his entire life, he clapped the younger man heartily on the back.

Merlin winced, unable to stop the gasp that escaped his lips or the compulsive arching of his back.

* * *

Arthur had patted Merlin on the back many times over the years they'd been acquainted and Merlin had never winced unless he was trying to make a joke of it. Even when Arthur had hit him especially hard with the express purpose of _trying_ to get him to wince. Even when he was wearing a metal gauntlet and hit him without thinking about how much that could hurt. Arthur had seen Merlin smack his head off of stone walls and floors and shake it off without complaint. As much as he teased Merlin that he was a wimp, he actually wasn't; the fact that he had _winced_ and _flinched away_ from Arthur's hand meant that something was seriously wrong.

Arthur immediately grabbed those too thin shoulders and spun his friend away from him, then pulled at the neckline of his shirt to peek down the back. Merlin, hands already clasped behind his back, squeezed his arms together, contorting his shoulders and elbows as if to stop Arthur from seeing.

"Merlin," Arthur asked, slowly and carefully, as he gently but firmly took hold of the sharp elbows and tugged Merlin's arms away and down to his sides, "what is this?"

Merlin turned red and squirmed in Arthur's hold, but didn't answer, and Arthur had to resist the urge to shake him. Instead, he gripped the bony elbows more firmly and said in as stern and commanding a voice as he could, "Merlin." Merlin stiffened and stilled, and Arthur continued, "Tell me how you got injured." When there was still no immediate answer, he forcefully added, "Right now."

"I wasn't trying to cause trouble, Arthur, I swear." Quiet, but undeniably desperate and miserable.

Merlin's response chilled Arthur to the bone and he spun him again, more roughly than intended, and elicited a whimper from the now clearly shaking young man—pained or fearful, Arthur didn't know and wasn't sure he wanted to. Arthur shifted his grip to Merlin's shoulders, as gentle as possible, and dipped his head to try to look Merlin in the eyes. "Do you mean to tell me that you were injured in _my_ _dungeons_?"

He spoke quietly, but he could hear the angry, dangerous edge in his own voice and Merlin apparently could too; he had clenched his hands tightly at his sides and was studiously attempting to hide his face as much as possible within Arthur's grip. Arthur may not pay as much attention to other people's feelings as Guinevere and Merlin were likely to, but he had spent every day for years with the man in front of him—he _knew_ him—and what he saw in him now was nerves and shame.

Arthur's hands fell to his sides as he took a step back in realization: Merlin was ashamed of and worried about Arthur's reaction to his having been beaten.

Merlin hunched further into himself the moment he was released, bringing his own arms up to wrap around his chest. Something squeezed in Arthur's own chest and stretched to wrap around his throat and he was at a loss as to what he could do to fix this.

Merlin had been hurt. Possibly quite badly. In Arthur's dungeons. And he seemed to think he would be blamed for it.

 _Okay, Arthur. First things first._

 _Merlin is hurt._

"Let's get you to Gaius."

* * *

 **As always, comments, critiques, and constructive criticism are more than welcome as I am always looking to improve!**

 **Have a fantastic day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


	6. Gaius's Chambers

**Edited chapter uploaded 8/4/18.**

* * *

 **DAY 9:**

The walk to Gaius's chambers was tense and silent. Arthur kept a hand on Merlin's nearest elbow, but Merlin stretched the distance between them as far as possible. He walked stiffly and with his face downcast and turned away from Arthur, but he was completely compliant; Arthur could feel him trembling under his hand and the man had flinched when he'd reached for him in the council chambers.

Now that he realized Merlin was injured, Arthur wasn't sure how he had missed it before. There had been a fine tremor running through the younger man's body in his cell the day before and in the council chambers earlier, and he'd moved stiffly and slowly, with great economy, in contrast to his usual swift but gawky movements. Arthur had put it down to nerves, but it had clearly been more than that.

Merlin had apparently been attempting to hide it, given that he hadn't indicated he was injured until Arthur had accidentally hurt him and had tried desperately to stop him seeing even then. And he hadn't been hiding it just from Arthur, either; he was quite certain Guinevere had been to visit Merlin multiple times since his imprisonment and she would not have allowed injuries to go untreated nor the perpetrators to go unpunished, nor would she have failed to inform him of it.

The question, of course, was _why_ Merlin had been so desperate to keep Arthur from knowing that he was injured in the first place and then from seeing the injuries once he had discovered them. Why this trip to Gaius was causing Merlin to react this way. The only clue he had was that miserable declaration, "I tried not to cause any trouble."

There were a few things Arthur could infer from that statement, none of which were pleasant.

The first was that it had likely been the guards in the dungeons who had hurt Merlin. But why would his guards do such a thing? The only reason this kind of force should ever be used on a prisoner was if it was necessary to stop him in a violent attack, to save oneself or another, but that couldn't have happened with _Merlin_. He couldn't honestly see Merlin causing enough trouble for any reasonable man to find violence necessary; he could barely imagine Merlin causing _any_ trouble after he'd repeatedly declared and demonstrated his determination to take whatever punishment Arthur chose, and he knew the younger man was too smart to unintentionally or needlessly antagonize anyone who held such authority over his life, especially more than once. The statement itself, of course, indicated that Merlin had done his best _not_ to antagonize them.

The second was that, for some reason, Merlin seemed to believe that Arthur would be upset with him for having been injured by the guards in the dungeons, that perhaps he would even punish him further. He seemed to think that he had brought it on himself somehow, and Arthur had to wonder what the guards had told him to give him that idea. A small, logical part of him realized that he should be considering the possibility that Merlin actually _had_ earned it, that he should be giving the guards in his employ the benefit of the doubt rather than a former servant and current criminal, but he couldn't bring himself to attach any worth to that consideration because this was _Merlin_ —kind-hearted, gentle, loyal Merlin who could never deserve this kind of treatment—that part of him sounded suspiciously like his father and he found it much easier than it used to be to squash it completely.

The third was that Arthur now had something else to investigate. The issues surrounding Merlin had only gotten more complicated.

By the time they had arrived at Gaius's chambers, Arthur's ponderings had only succeeded in making him angrier and therefore making Merlin jumpier, so Arthur didn't wait for a reply to his knock before letting himself in. Merlin balked for the first time at the threshold, pulling against Arthur slightly with an audible hitch in his breath, but Arthur did not have patience with _anyone_ delaying him in trying to _fix this_ , even Merlin himself, and tugged harder. Merlin gave in too easily and Arthur squeezed his lips together and turned away.

As he turned, he revealed Merlin to the physician for the first time. "Merlin," Gaius breathed, eyes taking in every inch of the thin, hunched frame; Merlin closed his own eyes at the sound of his name and seemed to curl further into himself.

Gaius immediately bustled toward them, arms outstretched toward his ward, and Arthur reluctantly blocked his path. "Gaius," he said gently, "he's injured." Merlin flinched under his hand.

Gaius's confusion at being kept from his ward melted into anger and worry and he glared at Arthur until he stepped aside and released Merlin. The physician's face immediately morphed into an expression of pure concern as he stepped up to Merlin, one hand gently gripping his upper arm and the other going to his face. "Oh, my boy," he whispered tenderly. His other hand dropped to Merlin's other arm, rubbing it soothingly as he whispered again, "Oh, my boy."

Merlin swayed forward into the touch and a tear leaked from one of his still-closed eyelids.

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, reluctant again to interfere in their reunion. Merlin didn't move, but Gaius tightened his grip and turned another glare on Arthur. "I need to speak privately with Gaius for a moment. Why don't you have a seat on the cot while we step out?"

Merlin opened his eyes and pulled away from Gaius, then bowed stiffly with another one of those quiet, shaky acknowledgements that Arthur was truly beginning to loathe from the bottom of his soul: "Yes, sire."

Gaius's glare intensified.

Merlin moved obediently toward the cot, but Gaius was significantly less willing to do as Arthur wished and allow Merlin out of his sight. Arthur's steadily rising impatience was temporarily stunted by his guilt, so instead of herding the old man out the door, he politely requested, "Gaius, please. I _need_ to speak with you privately." He most certainly did not beg. Or at least, he would deny it to his dying day.

Gaius pursed his lips, but stepped through the door and Arthur sighed in relief. Turning to shut the door behind him, he saw Merlin sitting stiff on the cot with his hands clenched tightly in his lap and his determination to fix things for his friend was strengthened. He drew in a deep breath and turned.

"Gaius," he said, "I must begin by apologizing. Merlin was injured while housed in my dungeons, possibly by my men. I don't have details yet, but I intend to fully investigate the matter." Gaius nodded silently, face softening; Arthur continued, "As part of my investigation, I need to know the full extent of his condition and I need to see Merlin's injuries for myself." Gaius nodded again. Arthur ran a hand through his hair in frustration and turned partially away as he continued in an animated rush, "Gaius, he thinks these injuries are his fault somehow, I think. He tried to hide them from me, quite desperately, and he seems to be worried about my reaction. I need to see his injuries, and discuss them with him, but I don't know that I can hold my anger at the moment, and I worry I might make this worse for him." He looked up at Gaius desperately. "Do you think it would be better for him if I were to get this over with now, or if I were to wait until he had a chance to rest and calm down?"

Gaius considered for a moment. "I think, sire, it would be best if you were to get your examination out of the way so that he may begin to heal."

"Are you certain?" Arthur asked; he hoped he didn't sound as completely lost as he felt right now. He looked down at his feet as he admitted, "Gaius, he hasn't reacted well to my knowledge of his injuries so far; I think—I think he might be afraid of me. I had hoped that some time under your care would settle him enough that my examination wouldn't cause him undue stress."

"Sire," Gaius said, in that gentle, fond tone he had always used when teaching Arthur, "waiting in suspense is likely to cause him stress as well. I truly believe it would be better for the both of you if you were to talk now. But if you think it will help, I will go in first and calm him a bit."

"Thank you, Gaius," Arthur breathed in relief.

* * *

Merlin had never thought that he'd miss his cell, but right now he _almost_ wished he was there because Arthur _knew_. Arthur knew how much trouble he'd gotten himself into in the cells and a sinking, twisting feeling in his gut told him this wasn't going to end well. He had been trying to show Arthur that sorcerers could be good and he thought he'd maybe even achieved that in the council chambers; but then Arthur had found out and now everything was falling apart.

A tiny part of his brain in the very back told him that it was possible he was overreacting because he hadn't eaten or slept very well in days and he was injured and in pain, but every other inch of him was screaming with dread and terror and drowning it out. He kept trying to calm himself, but the intense focus needed to stay upright as they stalked briskly down the corridors and the way his wounds pulled at his attention with every movement he made, reminding him of his failings and very nearly promising more, kept distracting him.

Even in the swirl of thoughts and emotions and distractions, though, he could tell that Arthur was angry: his jaw was clenched, his strides were stiff and fast, the few words he'd said since discovering Merlin's injuries had been laced with anger, and he was clenching Merlin's elbow as he dragged him along. He wasn't just a little angry, either, he was the kind of angry that could accurately be called furious and wouldn't end with something as simple as shouting and a few extra chores. Merlin's head was too fuzzy to say for certain that Arthur was angry at _him_ , but given the situation, his stomach clenched enough to make up for it. Briefly, his thoughts flittered to the stocks, one of Arthur's favorite punishments in past times, and the thought filled him with absolute terror in his current condition.

He spent the entire walk to Gaius's chambers trying to think through the swirl and figure out how to make this better and avoiding Arthur's gaze and he barely noticed the familiar landmarks they passed until they were there and the realization suddenly hit him—far too slow—that _now Gaius would know too_. He hesitated on the threshold, breath catching in his throat.

But then Arthur tugged him in and Gaius looked up and said his name and Merlin had to close his eyes because he couldn't deal with this right now. Merlin's wounds, as soon as he saw them, would hurt the man who was like a father to him; he'd be hurt and angry and he'd be put in a difficult position between his ward and his king. And he'd be so disappointed—he'd always cautioned Merlin to be careful, to not draw attention to himself, and when he saw everything that Merlin had brought on himself . . . Merlin didn't want to do this to him.

Gaius approached and Arthur told him Merlin was injured and for a moment Merlin wanted desperately to fall in a hole and die. But then Gaius reached him and held him oh, so gently and whispered to him and Merlin couldn't help leaning into the almost-embrace, the comfort he'd craved all those days in the cells. Something inside him cracked open just the tiniest bit and he felt tears welling up behind his eyelids; after the freedom of magic, _this_ is what he'd wanted most, to be with Gaius and to know that he was loved in spite of what he was and as safe as he could ever be in Camelot.

Arthur called his name, but in that moment he was suddenly too exhausted from everything to physically respond. "I need to speak privately with Gaius for a moment. Why don't you have a seat on the cot while we step out?"

Opening his eyes, Merlin pulled away from Gaius; he managed a bow and a "Yes, sire," before shuffling to the old, worn patient cot and sitting gingerly. He had a vague idea that there was some sort of struggle going on between Gaius and Arthur by the door before they left, but he was too tired to pay attention.

He was _so tired_. Physically, but also mentally. His thoughts drifted as he struggled to stay awake and upright. Tired of the fear and pain and guilt and dread. Tired of not knowing what's going to happen to him. Tired of struggling. Tired of unintentionally hurting people around him.

Gaius came back in, alone. Stood by the door a moment, regarding Merlin, looking lost. Stepped briskly towards the nearest table. "What can you tell me about your injuries?"

"Nothing broken," Merlin reported. "Nothing bleeding too badly. The worst injuries are on my back, where I can't see." He hesitated then, and had to look away to avoid Gaius's reaction before he could continue, "Healing has been slowed by lack of food and water."

Those same problems slowed his own reactions and he didn't realize Gaius was rapidly approaching him until he was crushed to the old man in another hug, one arm around his shoulders and a hand on the back of his head. His own arms came up as well and he clung tightly to Gaius as a single dry sob escaped his lips. For a moment, they held each other in silence, then Merlin, voice muffled in Gaius's robes, said, "I'm sorry, Gaius."

Gaius tried to hush him, but once the floodgates had opened he found he couldn't stop. As he spoke his endless litany of "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Gaius ran calloused fingers through his hair and whispered nonsense to him. Eventually, he'd worn himself out, and Gaius spoke up.

"Merlin, my boy, you have nothing to be sorry for."

Merlin started to babble uselessly again and Gaius cut him off by calling his name sternly and pulling back slightly to look down at him. Once he had Merlin's attention, he softened his voice and said, "You have nothing to be sorry for." He held Merlin's gaze until he nodded slightly, then continued, "We have something we need to talk about." Dread welled up in his throat. _What had Arthur wanted to talk to Gaius about?_

* * *

As Arthur waited impatiently for Gaius to return, he couldn't help imagining all the horrible things that could have happened to Merlin. The only thing that helped his mounting anxiety was imagining all the horrible things he was going to do to whoever had hurt him, but even that couldn't surmount his worries entirely. He found himself pacing on the narrow landing, with jerky, hurried steps.

Finally, Gaius opened the door. Arthur made to enter the room beyond him immediately, but was surprised when Gaius pushed out into the passageway instead and shut the door firmly behind him.

"Sire," Gaius began heavily, "if I could have a moment to explain some things to you before you go in."

Dread pooled in Arthur's stomach and weighed on the back of his tongue as he nodded mutely. He could already tell he wasn't going to like whatever Gaius was going to say; his thoughts flew again to his injured friend and the fears he'd been entertaining since he had discovered his injuries.

"You may or may not be aware, but during your father's time, there were standing . . . . orders, of a sort, unofficially, regarding the treatment of imprisoned sorcerers. The guards used any excuse, no matter how trivial or irrelevant, to deliver beatings, sometimes terrible ones, or to withhold basic necessities such as food or water or blankets in wintertime; they always claimed this treatment as punishment for causing trouble, but the true purpose was to weaken and terrorize the prisoner until they were no longer able to use magic or no longer inclined to. Your father believed these methods to be the only way to truly subdue someone possessed of magic."

"I was not aware, Gaius," Arthur said in horror. "I had no idea. Is this what happened to Merlin?"

"Yes, sire. I do not believe, as you feared earlier, that Merlin is afraid you will harm him, but rather he is afraid that you will blame him for his injuries."

Arthur was taken aback and angered both. "He believes that I will think he earned the beatings somehow, and he is worried I will think badly of him because of it." Gaius nodded confirmation. "Why does he think I would do such a thing, Gaius? Why does he think I would ever blame him for his own injuries, or allow someone to harm him like that for such trivial reasons? And why is my opinion what he's concerned about now of all times?"

"Sire," Gaius explained, "he was quite distressed and he's in a terrible state besides—from fever, pain, loss of food and water and likely sleep—he's hardly thinking coherently. He has calmed a bit, though, so you should be able to speak with him and gather what information you need." Gaius hesitated. "Sire, perhaps I should inform you, from what I was able to gather from Merlin, it seems the guards informed him that because he'd served as your manservant for so many years, he was considered dangerous, and that that was the reason this treatment was allowed."

Arthur's anger pulsed in his temples almost audibly and he snarled. "You don't mean to imply that someone told him that _I_ allowed it. That's why he thinks I will blame him."

Gaius could only nod.

* * *

 **As always, comments, critiques, and constructive criticism are more than welcome as I am always looking to improve!**

 **Have a brilliant day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


	7. Heart-to-Heart

**Special shout-out this chapter to fireicewriter42 who has been a faithful reviewer, but whom I've not been able to respond to, to the guest who read and reviewed every single chapter so far, all in a row in one day, and as always to my pal 1917farmgirl who keeps reminding me that I've left characters in bad situations for far too long.**

 **Enjoy these two idiots finally having an open conversation, even if they struggle with it far more than necessary still.**

 **Edited chapter uploaded 8/4/18.**

* * *

 **DAY 9:**

Arthur was very, very angry. He could feel the anger throbbing behind his eyes and burning in his chest and pulsing down to his twitching fingertips and the feet that were just aching to pace. It must have shown on his face as well because Merlin glanced up when he entered Gaius's chambers for only a second before he flinched and hunched over on himself, arms tucked between chest and knees; that only made his anger grow impossibly stronger.

Briefly, he struggled to hide the emotion as he stomped across the room, but found he was entirely too angry to even begin to pretend he wasn't. Merlin would figure it out soon enough, he decided as he gave up the struggle.

He fell to his knees in front of the cowering younger man—who flinched again—and took a firm grip on the shaking shoulders, pulling him up to eye level. Merlin didn't resist, but he did continue to hide his face with his eyes squeezed shut almost desperately; Arthur got the distinct impression that he was trying very hard to disappear.

"Merlin, look at me," Arthur commanded. He complied and the red-rimmed eyes and damp lashes that spoke clearly of his distress tore at Arthur and helped him to move past his anger temporarily. He tempered his tone as he continued, "Merlin, none of this is your fault. Someone hurt you and you did nothing to deserve that." Merlin studied him carefully, warily, as if he didn't quite dare to believe Arthur and Arthur felt something welling up in his chest in response as he continued desperately, "Merlin, I don't blame you for any of this. I could never blame anybody for something like this. What happened to you—It's not right. Merlin," he pleaded, "you have to know that I would never approve this treatment for any of my prisoners."

"Even me?" Merlin's voice was small and broken, but there were traces of hope in it that Arthur's own heart responded to; that hope lifted his heart, even as the question and the smallness of Merlin's tone and form broke it.

He shook the younger man. " _Especially_ you, idiot." He pulled Merlin—stiff and uncertain—into a tight hug; he could feel his friend's body trembling against him and his heart beating wildly. "Merlin, you're my closest friend, my most trusted advisor, I would _never_ want you to be hurt. It breaks my heart that you were."

Merlin sniffed into his shoulder and replied in the same small voice, "Even though I have magic and I lied to you?"

Arthur sighed and adjusted his hold; Merlin seemed to take this as a rejection and tried to pull away, but Arthur held on tighter. "Merlin, listen to me." Merlin stilled, tense and trembling in Arthur's arms. "I was angry when I first found out about the magic and the lies, but I'm not anymore; I'm not exactly happy about it, and we are definitely going to talk about it at some point, but I'm not angry. I haven't been angry, really, since the first time I visited you in your cell." Some of the tension had leaked out of Merlin as Arthur spoke, leaving him trembling violently; Arthur rubbed a hand down his back as gently as possible as he continued, "I am very angry right now, but not at you, do you understand?" Arthur felt more than heard Merlin's mumbled affirmative and it made him smile briefly. "Merlin, I am so sorry for everything that I put you through, for all the pain I've caused you, I never meant—"

Arthur had never been one for words, more a man of action, and that was very evident now as he struggled with what to say regarding the situation they found themselves in—the situation he had unknowingly caused. He had no idea how he could ever express how deeply sorry he was for what had happened. But Merlin, as usual, covered his deficiencies expertly. Thin arms wrapped tightly around Arthur and Merlin muffled a sob in his shoulder; for several long moments, they clung tightly to each other as Merlin sobbed brokenly into Arthur's shoulder and Arthur tried to hold back tears of his own. If there were a few extra tears in Merlin's hair when they were done, neither of them mentioned it.

Finally, Merlin pulled back; Arthur allowed him to sit up, wiping haphazardly at his eyes, but kept a firm grip on both shoulders. Arthur watched Merlin worriedly for a moment as the younger man pulled himself back together, until Merlin looked up and caught his eye with a tiny, hesitant smile. Arthur grinned widely back.

Gaius cleared his throat and both younger men turned to him, but it was Arthur he was looking at with a raised brow.

"Ah, yes," Arthur remembered. He turned back to Merlin. "Gaius is going to do what he can for your injuries. I'm going to take a look so that I can see for myself exactly what was done, and you and I are going to discuss what happened and who was involved. Merlin," he made sure the younger man was looking and gave him his sternest glare, "do _not_ hide anything from me."

"Yes, sire," was Merlin's subdued response. His shoulders had crept up a bit and Arthur sighed.

"Merlin, you're not in trouble, I just know you have a habit of minimizing things for my benefit and I suspect you've hidden injuries more than once as well."

"Yes, sire," Merlin responded obediently.

Arthur sighed again, this time ending it with a heartfelt groan. "Merlin . . ." He trailed off, at a loss for how to articulate that he never wanted to hear Merlin say those two words ever again.

"Yes, sire?" Merlin inquired innocently.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Merlin, are you just saying that to be irritating now?"

A ghost of Merlin's old familiar grin passed over his face. "Yes, sire."

Arthur reached up and lightly cuffed him on the head, then ruffled his hair; Merlin ducked his head away, but Arthur was pleased to note that the slight grin didn't drop. Glancing up at Gaius—still waiting patiently with an eyebrow raised, though he was also smiling—Arthur released Merlin and took a step back, and Merlin's smile did drop then, as he looked up sharply. Arthur tried to reassure him with a smile of his own, but Merlin still looked uncertain, his eyes flickering to Gaius when Arthur nodded at the old physician.

Gaius stepped forward at Arthur's nod. "Merlin, my boy, why don't we start by getting your shirt off."

Merlin's eyes darted between the two of them, holding Gaius's for a moment of silent pleading, then turned on Arthur briefly, before dropping to his own knees as he complied. The tension was back in his thin body. Both Gaius and Arthur hissed at the sight that was revealed once the shirt was off and Merlin flinched.

"Easy, my boy," Gaius reassured him.

There were bruises of every color across his chest, ribs, and stomach and up and down his arms, the most severe being on his sides, wrists, and forearms, and cuts and scrapes were scattered throughout. While Arthur stared in horror, Gaius moved a stool closer and began to carefully and methodically poke and prod at the various injuries.

"Nothing worse than severe bruising," he finally reported without looking at either younger man.

With a hand on the nearer shoulder, he gently nudged Merlin to lean slightly forward so that he could get a look at his back. Merlin complied, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head, and Gaius's hand remained on his left shoulder as he stood and maneuvered himself to better see. Whatever Gaius saw made him purse his lips and gently squeeze Merlin's shoulder, and Arthur frowned at the response and stepped closer. When Merlin flinched again at the sudden movement, he put a hand on the younger man's other shoulder.

The back was worse than the front. Worse than Arthur had hoped from the brief glimpse he had seen in the council chambers, though not quite as bad as he'd feared on his way to the physician and while waiting outside these chambers. Merlin's back was at least equally as bruised as his front, and from top to bottom, but the skin had broken open in more places; Arthur recognized from the marks that Merlin must have suffered several different kinds of "punishments," from kicks and punches to being struck with a wooden rod to possibly even whipped. He also noted that the injuries were carefully located so that they wouldn't easily be visible, were he fully dressed, meaning someone had intentionally hidden their abuse of the man. Some of the injuries were bleeding sluggishly, while others were oozing a light-colored puss; the areas around the oozing wounds were swollen and reddened in spite of the bruising.

"Merlin, I'm so sorry," Arthur said again. Merlin didn't say anything in response and Arthur couldn't see his face, but he reached up and grasped the wrist at his shoulder, fingers trembling slightly but grip firm.

"Merlin," Gaius asked gently, "do you think you can lie down on your front? I need better access to clean these wounds and try to clear up the infection."

Again, Merlin didn't respond verbally; instead, he released Arthur's wrist and began the careful process of shifting to his stomach. Arthur shifted his own grip, bracing Merlin across the front of his shoulders and helping him ease down into position. Looking down at the battered, prone figure, Arthur took a moment to take a deep breath, then moved around to the head of the bed where Merlin could see him more easily and settled down with his left shoulder braced on the corner of the bed frame; Merlin watched him the entire time without looking him in the face, even when their faces ended up inches apart.

"Do you want to get the questions out of the way while Gaius tends to your wounds or would you rather wait until he's finished?" Arthur asked him, very carefully not looking beyond his face and head.

Gaius answered instead. "I would prefer if you took care of your business now, sire, so that Merlin can rest sooner."

"Merlin?" Arthur questioned. The younger man nodded in confirmation, still without looking at Arthur, and he instructed, "Why don't you start at the beginning." Merlin seemed to struggle for an answer, so Arthur prodded, "When was the first time you were attacked?"

"Just after your first visit to my cell," Merlin answered softly.

Arthur nodded encouragingly, even though Merlin wasn't really looking at him. "Was there a reason given for this attack?"

The answer was hesitant and still soft. "Yes."

"And what was that reason?"

Merlin shifted. "Arthur," he began, still hesitant, but also a warning. Arthur recognized that tone.

"Merlin," he said sternly, "did I or did I not tell you not to hide anything from me, even for my own benefit?"

"You did," Merlin acknowledged quietly, fist curling on the bed by Arthur's shoulder and chin tucking away toward his own shoulder.

Arthur put a gentle hand on the top of Merlin's head and said, "Merlin, please, I need to know everything." Merlin's chin came up and his eyes met Arthur's, then, and Arthur could see his response there, the obedience and unwavering trust, still, in spite of everything that had led to today. Softly, he asked again, "What was the reason for the first attack?"

Merlin maintained eye contact as he replied, and his words, though soft, were clearly spoken: "He said that you were angry and that I was dangerous and a traitor and needed to be kept in line through more forceful means."

The fingers of Arthur's left hand curled into a tight fist under the cot, even as his right hand gently brushed Merlin's hair from his eyes above it. He focused on his fingers in the dark hair rather than meeting Merlin's eyes. "Did he claim that I authorized this attack?"

Merlin's own fingers gripped Arthur's shoulder above the bed frame before he responded. "Yes."

Arthur's eyes flew to Merlin's then and found his friend looking steadily back. "He said that specifically?" Arthur asked sharply. He shifted more upright, causing Merlin's hand to fall away and Merlin's neck to have to crane a bit more to see him. "Merlin, it's important whether or not it was specifically stated outright."

Merlin's eyes didn't waver at Arthur's questions. "He kept implying it, and I said that you would never allow something like that in your dungeons, then—then he said—" Merlin's voice trailed off as he swallowed thickly; his eyes and face dropped away and his voice became hollow, with traces of worry and pain in it. "He said that you made a special exception for me."

The fingers still resting in Merlin's hair convulsed, making Merlin wince, and Arthur absent-mindedly began to smooth his fingers gently through the dirty strands as he settled back against the bed frame. "Merlin." He waited until the younger man's eyes were on him again; there were tears trembling in the corners of them. "I would never do that. Do you believe me? I would never allow this kind of treatment for anyone, _certainly_ not for you."

Merlin nodded with a sniff and his hand came up to wipe at his eyes; Arthur's own hand stilled in Merlin's hair, but he didn't remove it. "I didn't want to believe it," Merlin said with his hand still over his eyes. "Part of me _didn't_ believe it. But he said it a lot and I knew you were angry. I—I'm sorry."

Guilt struck Arthur hard once again, that he was responsible for putting Merlin through this, whether directly or indirectly, and that Merlin had believed, even a little, that Arthur could do that to him intentionally. "Don't be sorry, Merlin," he told Merlin firmly. "You did nothing wrong. _I'm_ sorry," he said again.

Merlin laughed wetly and finally removed his hand to grin at Arthur. "That's like the third time you've said that you're sorry. I didn't think you had it in you."

Arthur grinned back. "Because you haven't said whether you forgive me, you idiot." Merlin's grin dropped instantly and he stared at Arthur wide-eyed; Arthur worried for a moment that he'd gone too far. "It's important to me whether or not you forgive me, Merlin."

He held his breath as Merlin laughed again, shaky and breathless. Then Merlin said, easily, "Of _course_ I forgive you, Arthur; you have nothing to be sorry for." He seemed surprised that Arthur hadn't realized that.

Arthur's hand slid out of Merlin's hair and fell to the floor in his own surprise. "You were brutally attacked in _my_ dungeon after _I_ sent you there," he said in exasperation.

"Because _I_ committed a crime—lots of them, actually—and some _guards_ decided I wasn't being punished enough," Merlin retorted. "You can't take credit for everything, you prat."

"Hey!" Arthur protested, but his heart wasn't really in it. It was too busy soaring for joy at Merlin's renewed grin and the use of the familiar nickname.

But too soon Arthur had to crush both his own heart and Merlin's grin with a return to the hated subject of Merlin's injuries. "This guard who attacked you and told you I allowed it, who was it?" He picked at his fingers under the cot, glancing down as he asked, then back up to watch for his friend's reaction.

Merlin's grin faded, as expected, but he rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "He didn't exactly introduce himself, Arthur."

But Arthur had spent the past nine or so days mentally reviewing various interactions with Merlin and he thought he might have figured out how to spot when Merlin was trying to deflect Arthur's attention from something. If he was right, this was one of those times. "Merlin," he began in what he hoped was a patient tone, "you've been at my side during visits to the dungeons and inspections of the guards for years, and you've been personally housed in those dungeons at least half a dozen times—you know the names of many of the guards already, and I don't doubt that you know how to find out any you might not know, even from within a cell. _Who was it?_ "

"Arthur, please," Merlin begged. Actually begged, with wide eyes still damp and red-rimmed from crying. He was wincing from Gaius's ministrations, too, which didn't help.

Arthur considered pushing—if it had been any other time or any other person, he very well might have—but instead he calmly asked, "Why don't you want to tell me?"

Merlin regarded him for a moment without speaking and it felt as if he were staring into Arthur's soul. Finally, he carefully asked, "What are you going to do if I tell you?"

 _I'm going to kill him_ , Arthur thought instantly. Then, _Oh_.

Merlin was giving him a knowing look that was also slightly disapproving, and suddenly Arthur wasn't sure what he was actually going to do.

Merlin saw his hesitation and continued, "Arthur, you can't go flying off the handle just because I was beaten." Arthur made to protest, but Merlin stopped him with a raised hand. "If for no other reason than because it would look like you changed the laws on magic just because I got caught and you wanted to protect me. You can't change or ignore laws because of a single person, and they haven't technically broken any laws, have they?"

Arthur sighed: Merlin wasn't wrong, unfortunately; if he reacted purely on protective instincts for his friend this soon after the laws on magic were overturned and Merlin was thereby freed, the link between the two decisions would be easy enough for anybody to trace to protecting Merlin and the people would not be reassured that the laws were changed because they had nothing to fear from magic, as Arthur had intended. He wasn't wrong that they hadn't technically broken any laws, either; while he openly frowned on unnecessary violence, he had never undone his father's orders, however informal, regarding sorcerers in the dungeons. As king, he could do with them as he pleased, regardless of whether they'd actually broken any laws, but he did have to consider the image he was presenting to his people. He scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration at this whole mess. "Fine," he said grudgingly. "I'll consult with you before handing down any punishment. Satisfied?" Merlin smirked at him and he cuffed him on the head, regardless of his condition. "Now who was it?" he demanded again.

* * *

 **More information will be learned at the trial for the guards; I saw no need to include the information both places and it fits better there. Don't worry, there will be a lot more of Arthur openly caring for Merlin in later chapters. (Or, at least, open between the two of them, not necessarily in public . . .)**

 **As always, comments, critiques, and constructive criticism are more than welcome as I am always looking to improve!**

 **Have a magical day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


	8. What Friends Are For

**Edited chapter uploaded 8/4/18.**

* * *

 **DAY(S 9-) 10:**

It was very late by the time Arthur finished speaking to Merlin about his ordeal and Gaius had fed and shuffled the injured man off to his own bed to rest, possibly late enough to actually be early morning. In consequence, Arthur resisted the urge to pound violently on the door in front of him, out of respect for the occupants of neighboring rooms, and instead knocked at a much more normal volume, though his entire body was stiff with the restraint. His politely quiet knock didn't get an answer right away—nor did any of the following three—and he was about to abandon all pretense of control, resorting to either working out bits of his anger on the wooden planks or simply opening the door himself, regardless of how much effort that might take if it were locked, when his answer finally came.

"What—?" the occupant began blearily, but Arthur didn't give him the chance to get farther than that single word before shouldering his way past and into the room, reaching around the startled man to slam the door closed.

For a moment, they stared at each other, Arthur seething and the other man gaping in surprise and tensing for a fight.

"Did it by chance occur to you that you might not actually be welcome here, oh mighty king?" Gwaine nearly snarled. "Was my moving out of the knight's quarters of your citadel too subtle for you to grasp?"

"And here I thought you just wanted to be closer to the ale," Arthur snapped, his anger overcoming his better judgment now that he was dealing with someone other than Merlin. Gwaine growled and shifted forward, lowering his stance, and Arthur snapped out of it and raised his hands appeasingly. "Sorry. I didn't come here to fight." Gwaine didn't respond other than to raise an eyebrow, and Arthur ran one hand through his hair with a sigh, dropping the other. "I know you're angry with me," he told the other man.

"Really, sire?" Sarcasm and false surprise dripped from Gwaine's voice. "I thought those of us that were beneath you weren't worth that kind of attention, your majesty. What brought it to your attention, your highness? Was it when I screamed at you and called you a coward and a tyrant? _Sire_?"

Arthur scowled. "Gwaine—"

"What do you want, _oh magnificent monarch_?" Gwaine interrupted scathingly, posture still aggressive.

Carefully, Arthur replied, "I just want to talk."

" _Talk?_ " Gwaine exploded. "If you want to talk to someone, why don't you go talk to the friend you arrested and left to rot in your dungeons? Maybe if you actually bother to talk to him, you'll remember that he's the best friend a man could have and that he doesn't deserve to be treated like this just because he has _magic_. Maybe you'll remember that he's completely loyal to you, always has been, and that whatever he's done with his magic has probably been for your benefit more than not and certainly hasn't been evil. Maybe he'll even manage to talk some sense into that thick, arrogant skull of yours, Arthur Pendragon. Don't know how, but he's done it before."

"Are you done?" Arthur asked impatiently.

"Are you?" Gwaine shot back. "Are you done letting a few lies destroy the best friendship you've ever had? Done letting a little magic erase years of believing in you even when no one else would, just like they never happened?"

"Gwaine," Arthur said sternly. "I _know_ why you're angry with me. I am aware that there are parts of this situation that are difficult for the people who care about Merlin."

"Then why haven't you—"

Arthur spoke over him, "I _did_ talk to Merlin, that's why I'm here."

There was a moment of awkward silence, but some of the tension that had thickened the air since Arthur had entered had leaked away and both men breathed more freely because of it.

Gwaine shifted. "So . . ."

"Merlin's been injured," Arthur informed him quietly.

Instantly, Gwaine's posture resumed its former aggression and he took a threatening step forward as he growled, "What happened?"

"Guards," Arthur spat, jaw tense and brow lowered, and Gwaine responded to the venom in his voice and the pure anger radiating from his body by relaxing his own body into a less aggressive and more congenial posture, though still tense with rage of his own.

"I take it you don't approve?" he asked carefully.

"Of course not!" Arthur snapped. "They beat him badly and without reason! No guard of Camelot should ever stoop to such behavior!"

Gwaine's lips quirked into a little grin despite the grim situation. "You know," he drawled, "it wouldn't kill you to admit that you care about him."

Arthur scowled at him and Gwaine's grin only grew. "Focus, Gwaine," Arthur growled.

Gwaine's grin slipped away as he returned to the matter at hand with a repeat of his earlier question, "What happened?"

"Apparently, they don't like Merlin for some reason," Arthur said. Gwaine growled and Arthur silently agreed with the sentiment. "I've spoken to Merlin at length on the subject and obtained the names of those involved." He pulled out a scrap of parchment and casually handed it to Gwaine for him to have a look. Pointing at one block of text near the top, heavily circled, he continued, "According to Merlin, this man, Brendan, was the worst, a ringleader of sorts, and he told Merlin that I authorized this . . . behavior."

Gwaine raised an eyebrow and had to ask, "He didn't even try to defend himself, did he?"

"No, of course he didn't, the selfless idiot," Arthur snapped. Gwaine gave him a knowing look and Arthur huffed at him.

Crossing his arms, Arthur rocked back on his heels, casual, and spoke in an off-hand manner; Gwaine had seen Arthur when he was actually casual and when he was pretending to be casual but actually preparing for battle and this was definitely the latter. He perked up and listened closely as Arthur said, "Merlin insists I shouldn't respond aggressively to this slander by giving them a _well-deserved beating_ , because I am king and should be above such things. And I've told him that I'll allow his input on their ultimate punishment as well, which will no doubt temper it _exceedingly_."

Gwaine frowned deeply. "You're not going to just let them get away with it, are you?"

"Of course not," was Arthur's immediate, calm response. "Justice _will_ be served." He continued speaking in a grave tone, without breaking eye contact with Gwaine, though he often paused significantly in his speech and gave the other man intense looks. "Of course, at this time of night, they're all either on duty in the dungeons or asleep in their beds _at the addresses listed there_." He gestured to the list Gwaine still held and a growing understanding lit the other man's eyes. "It would be terribly inappropriate of me to _wake_ them or interrupt their duty or _their return home after_ on the claims of a former servant accused of multiple crimes." Gwaine began to grin the predatory grin that always preceded a fight with an opponent he was going to enjoy beating soundly; Arthur's own lips quirked upwards briefly in response, but he resumed his kingly expression. " _In the morning_ ," Arthur stressed, " _several hours from now_ , I'll be arresting these men for their unbecoming conduct." Gwaine nodded, all wide-eyed innocence, betrayed by the twinkle in his eyes, the determined set of his jaw, and the fist clenching and unclenching at his side as he studied the list in his other hand intensely. Arthur's mouth threatened to smile a dark, vengeful smile again and he ducked his head to study his hands instead as he continued, "I thought you would like to know for certain that justice will be done. I also thought that on a night like tonight, you might want _some friends_ around." He peeked up at Gwaine to be sure the message was received and got a brisk nod in return. Satisfied, he gave his own nod and turned to leave.

Gwaine stopped him just as he reached for the door handle with a question: "Is he gonna be okay? Merlin?"

Arthur turned and allowed a smile this time, aiming for reassurance; Gwaine couldn't help but notice it was a sad and pained smile. "There shouldn't be any lasting physical harm." He started to leave again, but stopped on the threshold and turned to face Gwaine. "He's recovering in his bed in Gaius's chambers, but Gaius says no one is to visit until at least tomorrow afternoon and possibly not even then; you'll have to check with Gaius if you want to see him."

He started to leave and again Gwaine's voice stopped him. "Arthur?" The king turned, not meeting the other man's eyes. "Thank you." Arthur nodded and turned, but Gwaine wasn't finished. "It's not your fault, you know. You're king, but you can't stop everything."

Arthur didn't turn back to face him. "I put him there," he said quietly.

"Yes, you did," Gwaine said, just as quietly. "Move on. You're no good to him like this."

Gwaine could hear Arthur's intake of breath, even from several paces away. Then the king nodded sharply and left.

Gwaine waited for several minutes to give Arthur time to get far enough away that no one could connect his planned activities with the king's visit, just in case. That was actually the hard part, the waiting. Getting into the citadel was ridiculously easy.

Arthur hadn't publicly revoked Gwaine's status as a knight or any of the privileges that came with it, so the guards let him pass without comment, despite the hour. He felt a little prick of guilt at that, that he'd been so quick to ignore the trust Arthur had earned from him when Merlin had been arrested, especially when he'd just seen with his own two eyes how much Merlin's arrest and following events were wearing on the king. But then again, Arthur had been a bit of an idiot to arrest his most loyal follower, whom he'd known even longer than Gwaine had known Arthur, so Gwaine supposed they were square and couldn't quite bring himself to regret his actions.

He knocked on Percival's door first, and the larger man silently agreed to get dressed and meet him at Elyan's room without fuss, in spite of the fact that Gwaine had awoken him from his rest and hadn't given him any explanation. That was one of the best things about Percival, Gwaine reflected as he headed towards Elyan's, the man rarely made a fuss about anything. Steady as a rock, Percival.

Elyan, on the other hand, was not nearly as reasonable about being woken in the wee hours of the morning.

"Gwaine." His name was more growl than greeting when Elyan saw him at his door. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night? Is this about breaking Merlin out again? Because I already told you, I'm only helping if Arthur hands down a stupid sentence."

"It's not about breaking Merlin out," Gwaine said. "Get dressed. Percival's coming."

Elyan rolled his eyes and shut the door in Gwaine's face a little harder than necessary, but Gwaine trusted that he was doing as he was told. Shortly after Percival arrived, Elyan opened the door—fully dressed—and motioned sharply for both of them to come in.

"What's this about?" he asked as if he weren't sure he wanted to indulge Gwaine at all.

"Merlin's been attacked by some guards in the dungeons," Gwaine announced. "Arthur wants us to take care of them."

Percival nodded.

"What?" Elyan asked, straightening and blinking. Gwaine wasn't sure if he was confused, just now coming entirely awake at the news, or if he was just unsure of Gwaine's hasty explanation; there was a dangerous edge to the question though that Gwaine appreciated.

"He gave me a list of names and addresses and said they'll be officially arrested sometime hours from now, but that they deserve a beating," he tried again.

"Okay," Elyan agreed, grinning somewhat viciously; Percival nodded. Gwaine really loved these guys sometimes.

"Is he okay?" the quiet knight asked.

Gwaine nodded. "Arthur says he'll be fine physically."

"What about Leon?" Elyan asked.

"What about him?" Gwaine asked impatiently.

"Shouldn't we get him too?"

"Why?" Gwaine demanded. "He won't be able to help us; he's First Knight."

"He's also Merlin's friend," Elyan insisted. "We should still give him the option to help or not."

Gwaine turned to Percival for help, but the gentle giant nodded his agreement. "Fine," Gwaine grumbled. "But we'd better do it fast because we only have a few hours before daylight."

The other two seemed to agree with the necessity for speed, because they were standing in front of Leon's door and knocking before even Gwaine could get irritable about his impatience. Leon, of course, answered with his usual efficiency, saving them even more time.

The man raised an eyebrow at the sight of the three of them standing before his door at such a late hour, fully clothed, and stepped aside in silent invitation.

Gwaine wasn't entirely sure how to begin this conversation. In terms of fussiness, Leon was the worst; the man was an absolute stickler for rules and propriety and honor and things and could somehow manage to make Gwaine feel like an ashamed, errant child with nothing more than a look every time he breached that code in some way. Gwaine suspected Leon held this mysterious power over other knights as well, even Arthur, though he couldn't prove the latter, and it made the man formidable when discussing something that was almost certainly against the knight's code of honor.

Regardless of his opinions, it appeared that he would _have_ to start this conversation. Leon was waiting patiently and not only were the other two not offering up any sort of help, Elyan was giving Gwaine a pointed look and Percival was pushing him steadily forward.

Gwaine might have waited longer, ordinarily, beating around the bush in that charming manner of his, but he was still very aware of the time slipping away, so he simply blurted, "Merlin was attacked by guards in the dungeons and we're going to go have a chat with them." Something else suddenly occurred to him and he added in a rush, "And they insulted Arthur."

Leon's other eyebrow crept up to join the first, but as usual, he got right to the important things. "Merlin was attacked in the king's dungeons. How so?"

"I don't know any details," Gwaine explained. "Arthur said they beat him badly and without a reason."

"The king told you this himself?" Leon clarified.

"Yes," Gwaine asserted, feeling the need to justify his actions under Leon's stern gaze. "And then he gave me a list of names and addresses for the people who'd done it and practically said we should pay them a visit. He said they deserve a beating, but he can't do it because he's the king."

Leon nodded solemnly. "As First Knight, I, of course, cannot assist you in this matter, nor can I condone your actions." Gwaine sensed Elyan shifting guiltily behind him. Leon began to lecture, "Suppose, in chatting with these . . . vile cowards, that you alerted them to their imminent arrests and unintentionally gave them the chance to flee?" Gwaine hadn't thought of that. Leon continued, "Of course, you could always bind them before leaving to ensure they remain available for their arrest, if you were to somehow think of that possibility."

"We can pick up rope on our way," Elyan whispered.

The room was not large and it was exceptionally quiet because of the late hour, so there was no way Leon hadn't heard the remark, but he steadfastly ignored it and continued. "And then there is the reputation of the Knights of Camelot to consider. Even if you could manage to convince these men not to talk, any serious or obvious wounds would cause questions to stir and the truth of the matter would be found out."

"No broken bones, no hits to the face, got it," Gwaine assured in an undertone.

Again, Leon ignored the remark he couldn't possibly have missed. "And violence of the kind you are suggesting is loud and draws attention."

"Gags," Percival commented; the other two nodded.

"Not to mention, anyone could walk in during the deed."

"One of us will have to stand guard outside," Gwaine mused to the others.

"I must warn you strongly against these actions."

Gwaine had never heard a strong warning delivered in such an apathetic tone before. What was it with proper knights telling you something while saying something else? He supposed, if that was the fashion of the night, he should participate. "Of course," he agreed, nodding amiably at Leon. "You've persuaded us. We won't seek any violence."

"Good," Leon declared with a firm nod at all of them. He opened the door and motioned for them to leave. They filed past, Gwaine last, and just as Gwaine reached him, Leon added, "A thousand blessings on the rest of your night, my friends."

Gwaine looked at him intently, but nothing on Leon's face gave away his thoughts save a slight twinkle in his eyes, hardly noticeable even to a friend in close range. Leon, Gwaine pondered, could be awfully sly when he wanted to be.

"Sleep well," Leon said earnestly and shut the door.

"Glad we came," Elyan said; Percival and Gwaine grunted in agreement, though Gwaine added a knock to the arm, for the sake of his honor.

Good people flocked around Arthur, including Merlin; Arthur had better appreciate it.

* * *

Arthur, for his part, was a little jealous of Gwaine's task, not only because he got to take an active hand in ensuring justice was delivered for Merlin, but also because the task Arthur was faced with in its place was not going to be nearly as easy or pleasant. Arthur had to tell Guinevere that Merlin had been injured and that he was responsible, however unintentional or partial Merlin and Gwaine insisted his responsibility was.

It was so late by the time he left the tavern Gwaine had moved into that she had already gone to bed, so he curled up next to her and fell asleep, deciding it was best for her to be fully-rested for the news, as he wished he had been. When he awoke the next morning, he found that she had already left and was filled simultaneously with both elation and dread at the prospect of further delay in his revelation.

Her appearance a moment later with a breakfast tray filled him with the same confusion of positive and negative emotions as he perched on the edge of the bed.

She smiled, which eased the gnawing in his gut a bit, and observed cheerily, "Oh, Arthur, you've woken. I told the servants to let you sleep late because I know yesterday was a trying day and you came in so late. I wasn't even sure if I was going to wake you now for breakfast, or just eat mine now and leave yours for later. I'm glad you're awake, though. I want to hear all about yesterday. I heard that you kept Merlin back after you dismissed the council and that you were talking."

At the mention of Merlin and the events of yesterday, his confusion of emotions boiled over into something decidedly negative and nearly overwhelmed him. "Guinevere . . ." he croaked helplessly, burying his face in his hands as his elbows came to rest on his knees.

She looked up from setting the tray on the table and, seeing his turmoil in his slumped position or hearing it in his voice, rushed around the bed to pull him into a comforting embrace. After a moment, she asked gently, "What's wrong?"

But Arthur couldn't say, couldn't find the words, and instead drew in a shuddering breath and released it in a sob that seemed to come from the depths of his being, quickly followed by several more. Guinevere was the anchor in his storm of grief and anger and guilt and frustration and he didn't even know what else, holding him as he cried like a child in her arms, murmuring soothing nonsense, stroking his back and head and arms gently, until he was spent.

When he finally quieted, she gently urged him further back on the bed until he was resting against the headboard, then climbed up next to him, heedless of her dress. She wiped his face with a cloth—her handkerchief, by the smell and soft texture of it—gently clearing away the tears and other liquids until the handkerchief became too dirty and she tossed it on the bedside table carelessly and curled into his side. She settled with her head on his shoulder, one hand tucked behind his back and the other draped over his stomach and idly picking at his nightshirt; Arthur's own arm came around her in response. They sat quietly like that for a few moments as Arthur composed himself.

"Guinevere," he finally asked hesitantly, "was I wrong to imprison Merlin? Or to—to leave him there for so long?"

She shifted against his side and her fingers stilled, but Arthur waited silently until at length she shifted higher, angling away from him a bit to look at his face and answering slowly, "No. I don't think you were wrong, on either score. As a friend, seeing him imprisoned is painful—I imagine for you as well—but as king, you have a duty and a responsibility to investigate any suggestions of crime and any changes to the law as thoroughly as you can. You did what you had to do, I know. Merlin understands that as well, and he wouldn't expect you to do otherwise, even for him." She squinted in confusion. "Surely you know that Arthur. Why are you asking now?"

He paused to consider her and her answer for a moment and was about to answer, to explain what had happened, when something suddenly occurred to him as he gathered his thoughts: "You've been arrested for sorcery before."

"Yes?" The word sounded more like a question than a statement, her confusion leaking through more prominently by the moment.

He shifted them both more upright, pulling his arm from around her to grip her by the shoulders. "Were you hurt?" he demanded roughly. _Please, God, no_.

Surprise and concern mixed with her confusion, and she stammered, "Arthur, what—?"

He cut her off desperately. "When you were in the dungeons for sorcery, did anyone ever hurt you?"

"Did something happen to Merlin?" There was worry in her voice, but something else, too, something entirely too knowing for comfort, something . . .

"Guinevere," Arthur asked carefully, "why are you avoiding the question?" Was he still breathing? His heart was definitely beating, he could hear it in his ears and feel it pulsing in his neck and head and in the finger tips that were tightening on her shoulders.

The hand that had come to rest on his chest when he pulled her upright slid up to his face, her thumb stroking his cheek gently. "Arthur," she said quietly, but firmly, "you don't need to worry about me. What happened to Merlin?"

Arthur took deep breaths, trying to rein in the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him. He consciously relaxed his grip on her shoulders and said evenly, "I will tell you when you answer the question." For a moment, they simply stared at each other, searching for something; it wasn't a contest of wills, as it would have been with Merlin, but rather a much gentler determination and concern for Arthur's state of mind that he read in those beautiful eyes. Voice gentle in response, Arthur prompted, "You were hurt?"

"Only a little, Arthur," she dismissed. "Nothing serious. They weren't actually sure I'd done the deed, so to speak, and knew that I was in favor with you and Morgana; they were more careful than they were with others." He made to speak and she shushed him. "Arthur, my love, those troubles are in the past. Someday, if you like, I will tell you all about them, but for today we have other worries. What has happened to Merlin?"

He didn't want to let the subject go, but he knew she must be as worried about Merlin as he would have been in her place and he knew that she had no intention of discussing her past today, so he acquiesced. He told her the entire story, from his discovery of Merlin's injuries to their long discussion in Gaius's chambers, every detail he'd learned from Merlin, the things that had remained unspoken but he'd guessed anyway, all of it. She cried silently throughout, clinging to him, but she never interrupted or shied away.

"I can't help feeling that it's my fault," he finished. "That I could have come to my conclusions about magic sooner, that I should have kept a tighter control over my own guards, that I should have at least told him more of what I was doing, been more open with him throughout the process, so that he wouldn't have felt the way he did about it and wouldn't have hidden it."

Guinevere pulled back, then, sitting up straight, looking every inch the queen she was despite the fact that she was sitting on his bed, dress rumpled and face stained with tear tracks, legs tucked beneath her. "Arthur," she said quite sternly, and he found himself sitting up straighter in response. "You've overthrown beliefs you've been taught your entire life, and you dedicated yourself to research and took in quite a bit of new information to do it. Do you honestly think that process could have gone any faster?"

Arthur thought it over carefully, and she waited patiently until he responded a bit sheepishly, "I suppose not."

"No, you couldn't have," she declared with authority. "And would you fault a man for believing others to be as honorable as himself?"

"No," Arthur said carefully.

"No, you wouldn't. So how can you fault yourself for believing that your guards were the honorable men you expected them to be, when they were under your good leadership? And how can you be expected to solve problems you weren't aware of? There were many other people who were aware of this practice, myself included, who are more at fault than you because we failed to inform you of it."

Arthur had to interrupt then with the plaintive question, "Why didn't you?"

Guinevere colored then and her chin dropped from its regal pose. "I thought you knew." She looked up at him again. "I thought you were aware of the practice and assumed you had already stopped it when you became king. I didn't even worry about Merlin because of that; I knew you'd never let him come to harm and I thought he would be fine, that his stay there would be nothing more than a little unpleasant. If I'd known . . ."

"Guinevere, stop," Arthur admonished. "You mustn't blame yourself."

She glared at him then, righteous fury shining in her eyes. "Neither should you."

"You haven't discounted that I should have been more open with him," he pointed out.

"Perhaps you should have been," she acknowledged. "But Merlin should have been as well, regardless of your actions. He made his own decision to hide his injuries, from both of us." He could tell from her tone that Merlin would be getting an earful about it, too.

"Arthur," Guinevere said seriously, "you are a good man and a great king. You did the best you could do; maybe it wasn't perfect, but you need to accept that."

He closed his eyes with a deep sigh and let his head fall back against the headboard.

Guinevere patted him gently on the chest with a chuckle and moved away. She had left the bed by the time her brisk voice came again. "Now, enough of this, Arthur Pendragon. Let's eat, and then I can get on with my day and you can go back to sleep, if you like."

He cracked an eye and looked at her with a smirk. "You're going to go see Merlin, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said decisively.

He opened both eyes and his smirk widened. "And you're going to scold him."

She pulled a face. "Oh, don't start, Arthur." She laughed and reached to tug at his hand. "Come. Up. Food."

He allowed her to pull him to his feet. "Can I come?"

She mock frowned at him in irritation, but a smile was peeking through.

He pouted and whined as she led him to the breakfast table, "I wanna see Merlin get a proper scolding for being an absolute idiot and hiding his injuries."

"Hush," she said, followed by a kiss to shut him up. "Eat."

* * *

When Gwen entered Gaius's chambers a few hours later, she found the physician ladling stew into a bowl. She could see the bags under his eyes when he looked up at her entrance and the way his back was more stooped and his movements more stiff than normal when he bowed. She smiled briefly, then asked in concern, "How are you, Gaius?"

"Oh, I'm quite alright, my lady," he said with a tired smile. "Just old."

"I imagine you must be tired after tending to Merlin all night and your regular patients this morning," she answered pointedly.

"Ah, yes, a bit," he admitted. "But I'll be quite alright; not my first time being up all night with a patient."

"Is it your first time being up all night with _this_ patient, Gaius?" she asked gently. He seemed to deflate and she pulled the bowl of stew from his hand before it dropped.

"No. It will never cease to tear my heart to pieces, though." His eyes filled with tears. "I never thought—Arthur is not his father, and I thought it would be—I didn't think—"

"Me, too," Gwen said sadly.

"He didn't know," Gaius said, but Gwen could tell he wasn't talking to her anymore.

She answered anyway. "No, he didn't."

They stood another moment in silence, then Gaius pulled himself upright and wiped away the tears that had fallen. He reached for the bowl, but Gwen pulled it out of his reach.

"Is this for Merlin?" she asked. Gaius indicated that it was. "I can take it to him. I came to speak to him anyway, if you think he's up for it. Why don't you rest?"

"My lady, there's no need—"

"Gaius," Gwen said sternly, "you and Merlin are my friends. Let me help you both."

"Oh, alright," Gaius allowed, "but I must be woken before you leave. His bandages will need changing."

Gwen set the bowl of stew on the table to help Gaius settle in his cot. "Don't you worry about a thing," she assured him.

"I shall always worry," he said softly.

Picking the bowl of stew back up, she proceeded to the back room to deliver it to its intended recipient. There was no response to her soft knock, so she quietly opened the door to see if Merlin was sleeping.

He _was_ asleep, and she stood a moment in horror to absorb the sight of her injured friend before stepping forward to wake him.

He was lying on his stomach on the bed with a blanket pulled up to his ribs and his hair a mess. Above the blankets, bandages covered his back. The bits of skin that peeked from underneath were discolored by bruises. His sleep was deep and still, but she suspected that had more to do with Gaius's potions than actual peace or comfort.

As she stepped closer, she tread on a board that creaked underfoot and Merlin instantly awoke, body tensing and arching up off the bed and head snapping round to look at her. His expression was panicked and startled and afraid and confused for a moment, but he blinked it away with the remnants of sleep, drew in a deep breath, and smiled sheepishly at her. "Sorry," he said, "didn't mean to—I thought—" He shook his head and dropped bonelessly back to the bed, no longer able to see her. "Sorry," he said again, voice muffled slightly by his pillow.

She walked the rest of the way to his bedside and deposited the bowl on the crate by his pillow before kneeling down next to the bed. Merlin had his head turned to the side so that he could see her and when she smiled at him, he smiled back.

" _I'm_ sorry," she said, taking his nearer hand. "I knocked, but you didn't answer, I didn't think—" She cut herself off and drew a deep breath. "I brought you food," she said instead. His smile widened. "Let's just get you upright," she added, climbing to her feet and reaching to assist.

He sighed and silently allowed her to help him into a sitting position against the wall, pillow tucked behind his back for what limited comfort it could provide. Once he was settled, Gwen perched on the edge of the bed and retrieved the stew.

"You don't have to feed me, Gwen," Merlin protested when she made a move to do just that.

"I'm going to feed you," she said firmly, "and you are going to eat. And then we are going to talk."

He looked distinctly nervous as he obediently opened his mouth to accept the stew, but it didn't stop him from eating steadily and he was soon absorbed in the task. She waited until he had finished, then set the bowl aside with a firm _clunk_. Merlin averted his eyes and began to worry the edge of his thin blanket between his fingers; the fingers trembled and moved jerkily and she made a note to discuss that with Gaius at a later date. She made a note to get him a better blanket as well and cleared her throat. Merlin froze, then slowly lifted his eyes to hers. He tried for a sheepish grin and halfway succeeded.

"You know," she began conversationally, easing the blanket from between his fingers and smoothing it over his stomach. "You ate the food I brought you in your cell much more quickly than that stew." He reached for the blanket again and made to pull it up higher, but she snatched it away before he could use it as a shield and replaced it over his stomach. "You said it was because it was good and I believed you because I thought surely my good friend Merlin would tell me if he was being starved, not just because I'm the queen but because I am his friend." Her voice grew sharper as she spoke and Merlin winced, but she continued. "Surely he would tell me if there was anything wrong beyond the obvious imprisonment, because he knows I care for him and would want to know. Surely there's no reason for him to keep something like that a secret from me, especially given the discussions we'd been having all week."

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered. He sounded miserable and on the verge of tears and Gwen took one of his hands in both of hers.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked gently.

He brought his other hand over hers, looking down at them when he answered. "Gwen, I couldn't—I couldn't risk—What would you have done if I'd told you? You would have gone to Arthur and you would have put yourself on the line for me and I couldn't—" He turned his head to the side away from her.

"Merlin, we talked about this, when I visited you. I told you not to worry about my relationship with Arthur and how telling me things would affect that."

"This was different, Gwen," he insisted.

"How?"

He looked back at their joined hands in contemplation for a long moment before answering. "With the magic, I didn't want your loyalties divided, yes, but I didn't want you to worry about something Arthur _might_ do, to worry about his reactions in the future. With this . . . This wasn't a possibility, Gwen, this was a reality and that's different. This—this was _never—_ I never thought this was a possibility, with Arthur. The pyre was a concern, Arthur's sword, sometimes, but not this, I—I never thought Arthur would—"

"He didn't allow this, Merlin."

"I know." He nodded. "I _do_ know that. I suppose I should have always known that, but at the time, I couldn't—" He removed his free hand from hers to shove it through his hair. "I was scared, Gwen." He looked up at her as he replaced his hand and squeezed hers. "Really scared. I didn't know what was happening and I was questioning everything and I couldn't take the risk of bringing anyone else into it, Gwen. I couldn't."

"I would have been fine, Merlin."

"Gwen, if he was angry enough to allow—" He broke off and swallowed hard, looking away again, then back to their hands. "If what they were saying was true, there was no way of telling what he would do, to you or—or anybody else. He's already banished you once, in his right mind, Gwen, and I couldn't—" He broke off again, this time closing his eyes and breathing deeply to calm himself. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and flat. "I'm sorry I wasn't thinking more clearly. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Gwen withdrew her hands and had time to notice Merlin's wince before she pulled him forward into a gentle hug. She held him for a long moment until he relaxed, then pulled back. Big blue eyes rimmed with tears looked up at her like a kicked puppy and made it very hard to be honest.

"Merlin," she began as gently as possible, "I'd like to tell you that you have nothing to be sorry for, but that would defeat the purpose of this entire conversation." He looked down and nodded and she rubbed his arm in reassurance. "I can tell you that you are completely forgiven, of course. I can tell you that I appreciate your concern for me in a situation where you had every right to be concerned only for yourself." He sniffed. "Merlin," she waited until he looked at her again to continue, "you should have told somebody what was happening. I was there every day; this could have ended when it had barely begun if you had just told me at any time what was happening. I understand why you didn't, and I can't entirely blame you for that, but I need you to promise me that if something like this ever happens again you will _tell somebody_." He nodded and she smiled at him.

"Your friends care about you, Merlin, even Arthur, though he has problems telling people things just as you do. We want to help you with things, we want to know what's wrong and help you carry those burdens, that's what friends are for."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said again.

Gwen hummed agreement. "You should be. Do you know what else friends are for? Friends tell you when you are wrong." Merlin flushed. Gwen made a face. "They also tell you when you need to wash your hair because it's starting to smell funny." Merlin flushed even darker, but laughed good-naturedly. Gwen smiled back. "I'll go and heat the water. You rest."

"Gwen," he protested as she stood, "you don't have to—"

"What did I just say about letting your friends help you?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

Merlin grinned sheepishly. "Yes, ma'am," he said cheekily. "Certainly. Go ahead. I'll wait right here. You do whatever you want."

"Now that's what I like to hear," Gwen grinned back.

* * *

 **As always, comments, critiques, and constructive criticism are more than welcome as I am always looking to improve!**

 **Have a beautiful day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


	9. Trial of the Day

**Shout out to 1917farmgirl, smuffly, and SpangleyPony for their encouragement through this process.**

 **Edited chapter uploaded 8/4/18.**

* * *

 **DAY 11:**

Arthur had chosen to delay the trial for the five guards whose names Merlin had given him; he wanted Merlin present, if possible, in case he needed him, but did not want to risk his health more than necessary. This delay had caused him some agitation as it meant there was some time before he could see the perpetrators or Gwaine's handiwork. He could have seen to their arrest personally, or visited them in their cells, of course, but a voice of reason in Arthur's mind that sounded suspiciously like Merlin himself had dissuaded him, citing his likely inability to keep his temper in check among other concerns.

That agitation, combined with the initial concern for the sorcerer sitting on the bed in Gaius's back room, was what led to him asking Gaius, for the second time: "Are you certain he's alright to attend? We could delay the trial further if necessary."

"I'm right here, you know," Merlin groused quietly from where he sat on the edge of his bed between the two standing men, likely rolling his eyes. Rest, food, water, and Arthur's reassurances had done wonders in restoring him to his usual temperament, though he was still a little too quiet for Arthur's liking. Despite the fact that Arthur was pleased that he was taking an active interest in the conversation, and he suspected Gaius felt the same, both men ignored him.

"He should be fine, sire, as long as he's not overly active or given reason for severe distress."

"I _am_ fine," Merlin grumbled, half under his breath. Again, he was ignored.

"But even so, I do request that you try not to keep him too long; even as limited as his activity will be, it will not be full rest, and therefore not entirely conducive to healing."

"I'm _fine_ ," Merlin insisted again, louder this time.

"Be quiet, Merlin," Arthur ordered without looking.

"Yes, sire," Merlin shot back, an edge of sarcasm to his voice.

Arthur reached over, still without looking, and locked an arm around the smaller man's neck. "I don't intend for it to take very long, Gaius," he said over the sound of Merlin's pleas to be let go. Merlin continued squirming as Arthur added, "But if it seems to be running longer than intended, I will send him back to you for rest." He finally looked down at the trapped man.

"I thought I told you to be quiet."

The room fell dead silent as Merlin froze, his only movement his slightly labored breathing. It suddenly occurred to Arthur that Merlin's begging for release had been more desperate than disgruntled, quiet pleas rather than loud shouts of annoyance, and that Merlin was still not entirely himself and may not have taken Arthur's actions as well as he would have previously, and he quickly released the smaller man.

Merlin withdrew immediately, head down and hands clenching and unclenching the edge of the bed spasmodically, briefly raising one to run through his hair and returning it as he shook his head. Arthur and Gaius remained frozen as he gathered himself. A moment later, he finally looked up, meeting Arthur's eyes. His smile was shaky and so was his voice when he finally spoke. "Prat."

Arthur laughed in relief and ruffled a hand through Merlin's hair much more gently than normal. Merlin didn't shy away; instead his grin grew a little stronger and a little wider. "You can't talk to your king like that, you idiot," Arthur informed him. Merlin ducked his head, but not before Arthur saw his grin turn into a smirk.

That reminded Arthur, though, of the other bit of business here. "Gaius," he requested. "Could we have a moment?"

Gaius nodded and disappeared through the door behind him, closing it softly after himself. Arthur watched him go before he turned and lowered himself onto the bed beside Merlin. Even without looking at him, he could feel Merlin watching him expectantly. He kept his own eyes on the floor in front of him—one of Merlin's shirts was crumpled into a ball next to his foot—as he leaned forward on his elbows and began, "Merlin, I'm not angry with you."

"I know," Merlin said softly.

"Okay," Arthur said. "Good." There was a moment of silence in which Arthur still couldn't bring himself to look at Merlin, who waited patiently at his side as always. "I'm not angry," he eventually repeated, "but there is still the matter of—of a formal trial. For you. To clear things up legally. We can talk about that more later, but, until then, you are still technically a prisoner."

"I know," Merlin said again. His voice was even softer than before, with a slight tremor to it, and Arthur could see the same tremor in white-knuckled fists and knobby knees at the edge of his vision.

"I'm not sending you back to your cell," Arthur said firmly, watching those fists as he reassured Merlin. "I can't say you won't ever go back, but not until I know it's safe there and Gaius releases you." The fists loosened as he spoke, but it was his turn to clench his own fists. Merlin noticed and stiffened, but he didn't lean away from Arthur; instead, he leaned closer, lending silent support. "There is, however, the matter of restraints," Arthur finally croaked.

Merlin didn't physically react, that Arthur could see, and all he said was a simple, "Okay."

Arthur sat up abruptly, making Merlin flinch away and hiss in pain as he was jostled. "Sorry," Arthur said, sparing a moment to be apologetic, before, " _Okay?_ "

Merlin blinked at him.

"I tell you you're going back in chains and that's all you have to say? _Okay?_ "

"I'm a criminal awaiting trial, and a dangerous sorcerer besides; I understand, Arthur." Arthur continued to glare at him. "It will be fine, Arthur," Merlin reassured. " _I'll_ be fine."

At a loss for words, Arthur snatched up the nearest wrist and yanked the sleeve clear, holding it up between them for Merlin to see. The wrist, from the base of the thumb to halfway up the forearm, was wrapped in bandages and bruises extended from underneath in both directions. Arthur remembered how raw they were underneath, how the manacles had dug and tore into skin and bone in places; Gaius had said there may yet be permanent damage to the nerves. Merlin was going to be scarred for life already from a set of manacles and besides that he was still healing—wearing manacles now would not be helpful to him in any way, and may even be harmful in a number of ways. "Fine?" he demanded incredulously.

Merlin smiled wryly. "I didn't say it would be _pleasant_ , but it _will_ be fine, Arthur."

Arthur stared at him in wonder. "Merlin, you would walk through fire if I asked you, wouldn't you? And you'd tell me that exact same thing."

Merlin didn't answer, only shifted a little on the bed to face Arthur more fully, then reached up with his right hand to grip Arthur's wrist. His grip was a little shaky and not as firm as it might have been before, but he squeezed gently before twisting his other wrist free of Arthur's grasp. Instead of releasing Arthur's wrist, he shifted their hands so that they were now gripping one another by the forearm, then met Arthur's eyes solemnly. "I swear to you, Arthur Pendragon, that I will not come to any lasting harm from simply attending a trial in chains."

"Okay," Arthur said. "Fine."

Merlin snorted and made to release Arthur's wrist, but Arthur held tighter. "No walking through fire, Merlin," Arthur said, looking into Merlin's eyes to be sure he understood. "If you _do_ get hurt, by any of this, or by any of my future orders, swear that you will tell me and let me fix it."

Merlin grinned and his eyes got all wet. "I swear it, Arthur." As Arthur released him, he added, "Honestly, you're such a mother hen. You're worse than Gwen."

Arthur swatted him on the back of the head, gently. "One other thing, Merlin." He hesitated. "As a prisoner, it's not—it wouldn't be . . . _wise_ for you to talk to me in public like you normally do. Or at all, probably."

Merlin apparently wasn't as uncomfortable with the course of this discussion as Arthur was. "Got it," he assured. "I'll keep my mouth shut and behave."

"That's—I didn't mean it like that," Arthur protested. Merlin shot him a look. "Yeah, okay," he conceded, "that was basically what I meant." He bumped Merlin's shoulder to show him _no hard feelings_ , and Merlin returned the gesture easily.

"I'll be a model prisoner," he promised.

Arthur couldn't answer, instead finding himself staring hard at the wall in front of him.

"Was that it, then, your highness?" Merlin asked. "Are you done delaying?"

Arthur took a steadying breath. "There are guards outside Gaius's door with manacles for you," he informed Merlin. "I had Leon select them personally; he knows both of them. You should be fine," he added, though whether the last part was to reassure Merlin or himself, he honestly wasn't sure.

Merlin seemed to think it was Arthur that needed reassurance, as he said, "I will be, Arthur."

"I'll send them in on my way out and they'll escort you to the throne room." Merlin patted him on the knee and he nodded once, jaw tight, and stood to leave. "Wait here," he instructed needlessly.

Hand on the door, he paused and turned back to Merlin, who blinked up at him. "You swore an oath to me, Merlin," he reminded the younger man gravely. "If _anything_ happens between here and the throne room, or on the journey back, you _will_ tell me."

Merlin nodded. "I will, Arthur," he promised again.

Arthur glared at him for a few seconds longer for good measure, nodded sharply, and left. He barely paused even to direct the guards outside to Merlin's back room and in consequence reached the throne room much sooner than he would have liked, which left him sitting on his throne and struggling not to fidget irritably for far too long. Guinevere had arrived even earlier than he had and he could see the stress of the same restraint around the edges of her smile as she greeted him.

The crowd was equally restless, though they buzzed openly with gossip that Arthur could only begin to guess at. The delay in the trial and the efficiency of the Camelot rumor mill meant that likely everyone knew by now not only that Merlin had been absent from his cell the entire day before, but also that his guards had taken his place there. While Arthur personally thought the choice of cell was a nice touch on Leon's part, most people probably found it strange. He didn't know whether Merlin's actual whereabouts had been discovered yet or not, as the sorcerer had been tucked away in the back room the entire time, but he suspected it might have been considering the visitors who had been to see him, including at least the queen and likely Gwaine if not all of Arthur's select knights.

Finally, the perpetrators were brought in and Arthur got his first look at them since he had learned the truth from Merlin. They were chained hand and foot and led by a guard each, but walked with their heads held high for the most part. Arthur was pleased to note that not all of the stiffness was from pride though; there was a notable air of injury around them.

The first man led in had a smug smirk and a very broken nose. He seemed familiar, as all the guards of the citadel did, but Arthur wasn't entirely certain of his name; judging by his manner and the fact that he alone had a visible injury, though, he would guess this man to be Brendan, the leader of Merlin's tormentors. As he approached the front of the crowd, he smiled charmingly at a pretty girl who spat in his face and turned away with a huff. Arthur wondered if she was aiming for his nose, or if that was just happenstance. Beside him, he heard Guinevere snort softly in amusement or satisfaction. This man was far too calculating to give a confession easily; Arthur thought he was likely going to have to catch him in a lie. He was going to break this pathetic man.

The next man was incredibly large and incredibly angry and walked with a peculiar hunch in his posture that meant one of the knights (probably Gwaine) had taken a particularly cheap shot. This was the other of his tormentors that Merlin had described as one of the worst, a vicious man by the name of Alistair who had, according to Merlin, enjoyed causing someone pain. This man seemed to think he had done nothing wrong and Arthur thought he would have little trouble and a great deal of pleasure wringing a confession from the brute.

The next man was one Arthur knew better than most, a guard named Frideric who had been in service to Camelot since Arthur was a child. The older man was grave and quiet and Arthur had always thought him to be fair and just as well; this change in character, and at such a late point in his career, had surprised Arthur—the man was partially retired already, only serving to fill in for others, and was approaching full retirement. Arthur was saddened that such an honorable career should end on such a note. His face was a mask of stoicism. Arthur hoped he remained as loyal to the throne as he had always been, and that he would willingly give a full accounting of what had happened.

Arthur also knew the next man who limped in, a bootlicker named Gerald who was generally a rather twitchy man, always rushing to say whatever he thought someone wanted to hear. He was even twitchier than usual at being brought to trial, though, and kept shooting nervous and appealing glances at Broken Nose. This one, too, would be easy to get a confession from.

The final man was again familiar in appearance, but lacking a name; Arthur knew the names Merlin had given him by heart, though, having had them seared into his thoughts from the moment Merlin had said them, and supposed this one must be Aldis. He had a slightly guilty look to him, head hanging down and feet shuffling more than necessary. Arthur thought in amusement that Merlin seemed to have already driven this one halfway to confession and he himself would have little left to do.

Arthur clung to the shreds of amusement and satisfaction he was finding in finally getting justice for Merlin, rather than the anger and guilt at what had happened to his friend, hoping it would carry him through this trial without losing his composure. He could do this, he told himself as the five men were guided to kneeling positions in a line before his throne. He could do this for Merlin.

And then a hush spread through the crowd and Merlin himself appeared. He walked more stiffly than the men who had gone before him and his head was lowered, but he stood erect as he was led down the aisle. Arthur watched the guards Leon had selected carefully and was relieved to see that they were firm, but gentle, accommodating his injuries without a hint of favoritism and seeming as prepared to protect Merlin from others as they were to protect others from him. They walked as slowly as Merlin needed and when he inevitably tripped over his chains anyway, they supported him without fuss rather than dragging him. This was how Camelot's guards were supposed to behave towards prisoners.

As he neared the front of the hall and the kneeling men waiting there, Merlin glanced up and locked eyes with Broken Nose Brendan who had twisted around and was smirking at him. His steps faltered and he clutched spasmodically at the length of chain between his hands, worrying the links. Fear flashed across his face, followed by surprise, and as he swept his gaze along the line of men and took in their state of hidden injury it turned to suspicion. Briefly, he turned his suspicious stare up at Arthur, who met it coolly. As he was turned towards the side of the hall, he saw Gwaine—standing at the front of the crowd and near the injured men and grinning unrepentantly—and his expression cleared into understanding as he dropped his head once more.

The hall lit with whispers once more as Merlin was led to his place near the wall and guided to his knees. His guards did so with hands under his elbows and whispered instructions rather than rough shoves to his shoulders, and Arthur tucked his worries away to be dealt with another time.

Rising, he stalked toward his former guards and glared sternly down at them, arms crossed.

"You stand accused of dishonoring your positions as Royal Guards of Camelot by ruthlessly attacking a prisoner under your watch and care on multiple occasions." He eyed the men sternly, gauging their responses. Brendan's gaze remained cool and calculating, Alistair seethed, and Gerald twitched and sank down nervously. Frideric's brow creased. Aldis shot a guilty glance towards Merlin, out of Arthur's sight. "Have any of you anything to say to these charges?"

"Sire," Broken Nose Brendan began instantly in an oily, conciliatory voice that made Arthur want to hit him in the nose again, "none of us would ever dishonor our positions." Frideric and Aldis shot him disapproving scowls, and Gerald darted nervous looks between him and Arthur as Brendan continued, "We are your loyal servants, sire."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. He pointed at Merlin, who looked distinctly nervous at the renewed attention from both crowd and prisoners, even with his head lowered. "You deny attacking that man while he was housed in the dungeons?"

Brendan straightened haughtily and sent Merlin a nasty look. His voice, while still conciliatory, took on an edge of condescension. "Sire, that _man_ is a sorcerer. You can't trust a thing he says; they're all liars."

"I see," Arthur said consideringly. "So you are denying attacking him, then."

Brendan's face began to turn red and Arthur could see the frustrated groan he suppressed. Alistair didn't bother suppressing a light growl. The rest of the men shifted slightly, Gerald nervously and the other two seemingly uncomfortable with Arthur's repeated questioning.

"Sire," Brendan said, "if that—if _he_ is saying that we beat him—"

"He's not," Arthur cut in smoothly. "I am." Surprise rippled through both crowd and prisoners at this information. Arthur saw a flash of panic in Brendan's eyes.

"Sire?" the man questioned, voice more subdued than it had been yet. The crowd hushed and shuffled closer to hear Arthur's response.

"I discovered his injuries myself, despite his efforts to hide them. I personally examined them more closely and made the determination that they had been acquired on multiple different occasions during his time in the dungeons. He was then examined thoroughly by the Court Physician, who confirmed the same. Based on these facts, there are only three ways he could have gained these injuries, each of which is a breach of your duties. The first and most obvious is that these injuries were inflicted by the guards responsible for his keeping—the five of you. The second is that you allowed someone else to enter his cell, inflict injury, and leave. The third and least likely is that he escaped, was injured, and returned, several times, all under your watch.

" _After_ considering these possibilities, I pressed Merlin for confirmation. I was given your names only when I asked directly and took them only as confirmation of conclusions I had already reached. He made no accusations and in fact made every effort to hide first his injuries themselves, and then the identities of those who had inflicted them. Once pressed, however, be assured that he gave me a satisfactory account of his time in the dungeons.

"If you are suggesting I have somehow come to the wrong conclusion, then do please enlighten me as to how else a prisoner in your keep was so badly injured."

Aldis opened his mouth to speak, looking very intent on confessing, but Brendan cut him off, shooting the other man a silencing look as he did so. "Sire," he said carefully, "bear in mind that he's a dangerous sorcerer." Aldis frowned, but subsided.

Arthur hummed in consideration. "I suppose that may be true," he admitted. The prisoners had a moment of relief before Arthur turned to Merlin. "Merlin, come here."

Merlin's head jerked up in surprise, then lowered again as he obediently began struggling to rise. After a moment's difficulty, his guards came to his assistance, pulling him carefully to his feet and stepping forward with him as he crossed to Arthur. When he'd stopped within arm's reach, Arthur made a show of eyeing him consideringly.

The younger man was tall, but thin in a gangly, vaguely helpless sort of way, currently bound hand and foot and clearly anxious and uncertain despite his efforts at hiding it. His head was bowed submissively and he seemed to be making an effort to shrink into himself. Any one of the kneeling guards was broader and more physically imposing than Merlin, even cowering Gerald. Arthur himself dwarfed the smaller man, as did the two guards standing behind him, which likely made him look even smaller and more pitiful to the watching crowd. Yet still, they drew back, murmuring in fear at his presence.

This is what over two decades of prejudice against magic had done. This was what Arthur had to overcome, and this is what he was going to use Merlin to combat: this unreasonable fear of an individual based on magic alone. To do that, he supposed he'd have to face the problem head-on.

"Merlin, are you dangerous?"

Merlin seemed entirely unsure, stammering out unintelligible nonsense, so he tried again, more specific this time. "Merlin, are you _capable_ of being dangerous?"

Merlin's anxiety became even more apparent, but his response, though soft and shaky, was immediate. "Yes, sire."

Behind Merlin, Arthur noted that Gwaine resolutely did not move from his spot, though the crowd around him shrank away and left him standing alone. From the corner of his eye, he noted a few other Camelot red capes that stood steady despite the withdrawal of their neighbors. He also noted, more importantly to this trial, that none of the accused former guards seemed concerned by this revelation, nor did the two guards who were accompanying Merlin today. He would get back to that in a moment.

He took a steadying grip on Merlin's elbow and turned him slightly toward the kneeling men. "Could you have killed these men if you chose to?"

The hall fell silent again and Merlin's quiet answer could be clearly heard. "Yes, sire."

"But you didn't." The crowd began to murmur again and Arthur saw a few brave souls inching forward, most of them near Gwaine and the other knights and still hiding behind them. "Why?"

Merlin was tense and shaking with nerves. Arthur gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and Merlin looked up at him and took a deep breath. He spoke clearly and evenly, loud enough to be heard. "I don't want to kill anyone. I don't want to _hurt_ anyone. I just want to help."

Arthur nodded once, with another squeeze. More people crept forward, staring openly at Merlin who seemed to sense their attention and stood frozen, head bowed once more but shoulders creeping ever so slowly upward.

Arthur released Merlin, but didn't step away, as he addressed the accused men. "See, I had wondered how it could be that someone so dangerous, as you say, could be so badly injured, either at your hands or under your watch, and you are yet alive. It would seem to me that, if he were truly dangerous and not just capable of potentially being dangerous—as, truly, any man is—it would seem to me that if that were the case, he would inflict more injury than he had incurred."

Brendan made to speak, but Arthur pretended not to notice and addressed Merlin's current guards instead. "Has he seemed dangerous to you in the time that you've had charge of him?"

"No, sire," one replied. "Not at all. The opposite, in fact." Merlin's shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"He was very polite, sire," the other added, "and cooperative, too. Made getting the manacles on him as easy as he could, even apologized when he accidentally elbowed me, though it would have hurt him more than me with my armor."

"Apologized every time he tripped, actually," the first mused. In spite of the situation, Merlin's ears reddened at the words and Arthur had to fight not to smile. "Most polite prisoner I think I've ever had in thirty years of service, sire. Nowhere near dangerous."

"Dangerous is the last word I'd use to describe him," the second continued. "He's badly injured, as you said, sire, and in a lot of pain probably, and the manacles can't be helping with the injuries on his wrists, and besides that he seemed very nervous—" He shot the kneeling men a venomous glare. "—apparently with good reason—that we would hurt him further, but he never so much as said an unkind word or gave us a dirty look. He _smiled_ when we tried to be careful of his wrists, even though he flinched when I reached for them."

"Thank you," Arthur said to both, dismissing them and Merlin.

But as Merlin turned to go, Aldis spoke up. "Merlin!" Merlin's guards paused, looking at Arthur for instruction and Arthur held up a hand. Aldis continued, desperately, almost pleading with Merlin, "Merlin, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I knew it wasn't right, from the beginning, what we did. I tried to convince myself it was, because you had practiced sorcery and I was afraid, but you did nothing to deserve that treatment. I am so, so sorry." The crowd was stunned into silence at this apparent confession.

Merlin opened his mouth to reply instantly, but hesitated and looked to Arthur first, who nodded his permission. "I forgive you," Merlin told the man. His words were quiet, but in the silence of the chamber they carried far and Arthur heard the crowd taking them up and carrying them farther in reverent whispers. The room watched raptly as Merlin stepped forward and knelt stiffly before one of his tormenters, sitting back on his heels to be within sight of the man who'd lowered his head once more, and spoke kindly. "I know what it is to be afraid and to let that fear convince you that something is right and necessary. I understand."

The man raised his head again and stared dumbly at Merlin. "I _hurt_ you."

Merlin smiled reassuringly. "I'll get better."

The man stared back in wonder for a long moment, then bowed his head and gently took Merlin's hands in his own. "So will I," he vowed. "I swear it on my life. Thank you, Merlin, for your forgiveness; I hope to one day be worthy of it." Merlin smiled and squeezed his hands. "You're a good man," the other man added.

Merlin blushed and ducked his head away, shaking it slightly. Arthur sighed at Merlin's idiocy and motioned for the guards to take him away, this time ordering him back to Gaius's chamber to rest.

Now, as if this exchange had broken a dam of sorts, Arthur got a few confessions in rapid succession.

Aldis confessed first, starting even as Merlin was still being led away, to withholding the food and water allotted a prisoner in the King's dungeon by law and to beating Merlin. Arthur had known food and water had been withheld, but was surprised to learn that the guards had withheld all of it and that, to Aldis's knowledge, Merlin had not had anything to eat or drink except what Guinevere had taken him; Aldis had described the treatment in some detail, explaining that they had often poured the water onto the floor of Merlin's cell just out of his reach and eaten his allotted food in front of him to taunt him with his own lack and to further the hurt. He had described one particularly nasty event wherein Merlin had begged for water a few days into his confinement and he had refused and "kicked him until he stopped making noise." Aldis also revealed that Merlin had been denied visitors except the king and queen.

Upon further questioning, Aldis revealed that the intent behind these decisions had been to, essentially, break Merlin, both physically and mentally, to prevent him from using his magic.

"I believed it was the only way to keep the kingdom safe from the threat I believed he presented at the time."

Arthur sighed and clarified, "You believed, as my father always said, that sorcery and its practitioners are inherently evil." Aldis confirmed this and Arthur continued in a voice loud enough to carry throughout the room, though he never looked away from the man kneeling before him. "I have recently learned that this is not the case, as I suspect you have. Merlin is an excellent example of what I have learned through diligent research to be the truth: that magic is merely a tool and the people who use it merely people, just the same as you and I, capable of making good and bad choices alike."

The next to begin his confession was Frideric, though Gerald was quick to interject his own confession into it. Frideric was very grave and seemed disturbed by what had been revealed by the trial; his confession was that he had indeed participated in Merlin's abuse, but only because he had been told the treatment was at Arthur's orders. He had been on duty in the throne room the day Merlin's magic had been discovered and had seen Arthur's reaction and as disappointed as he seemed to have been by the orders and reluctant to carry them out, he had no reason to believe them false. He confessed to having withheld food and water from Merlin—though he said nothing of taunting him with it—and to barring visitors outside the royal couple, but not to having added to Merlin's injuries himself. The most helpful thing Arthur had learned from his confession was that it had been Brendan who had told Frideric of the supposed "orders," claiming to have been given them by Arthur directly; Arthur had been glad somebody other than himself or Merlin had brought the accusation publically and even more so when both Aldis and Gerald hastened to support it. Frideric's confession made Brendan a bit nervous.

Gerald's confession was as useless as Arthur had expected, though he verified that Brendan had given him orders claiming to be from Arthur and let slip some of his own atrocities. He proclaimed his ignorance and innocence throughout, but did not seem at all sorry for Merlin's suffering or his participation in it. Despite his claims of innocence, he seemed to have been among the worst for taunting Merlin mercilessly, particularly through actions that were cruel rather than physically brutal, such as the dumping of his water or eating of his food before his eyes and just out of his reach and what seemed to be unnecessarily rough bathing to ensure Merlin was "presentable for Her Majesty." Arthur dared not look at Guinevere.

Three confessions given, Arthur turned to the final two to see what he could wring from them and was almost surprised when he got something before he even began to speak. Alistair burned with fury beside Brendan, who remained cold and calculating despite his increasing unease, and began spewing a confession of sorts the moment Arthur's gaze landed on him. The man had absolutely no remorse for his actions and even now seemed to feel they were justified, simply because Merlin had been in the dungeons. His speech was less a confession and more an angry tirade wondering why Arthur was "making such a fuss about it now, especially over a scrawny sewer rat of a former servant." He unintentionally revealed that he routinely abused prisoners in the dungeons and had always gotten away with it before and implied that it was his right as a guard of the dungeons to do as he pleased with "his" prisoners. The man's speech sent icy trails crawling down Arthur's spine and he could only imagine how Merlin had felt, trapped in the dungeons with this man nearly every night. Despite the fact that the man confessed nothing specific, Arthur had no doubt that everyone present was entirely convinced of his guilt.

Arthur had to threaten to gag the man—and Gerald, who was still interjecting his own excuses—before he finally stopped his tirade and Arthur was free to turn his undivided attention on the fifth and final man awaiting his judgment. This was the confession he thought was likely to be the most difficult to obtain, but which he was most looking forward to. He stepped close, looming over the kneeling man so that he had to crane his neck in a manner that would swiftly become uncomfortable, and glared down in his most intimidating manner. He was pleased to see the man's throat bob uncomfortably.

Even though his nerves were increasing rapidly and apparently, Brendan maintained a level head. The first thing he said, in a calm, even voice with just a hint of careful, but exasperated condescension, was, "Sire, isn't it possible that you've been enchanted?"

The possibility that such an accusation or concern would be brought up had occurred to Arthur, if not in this trial, then in Merlin's or in the court of public opinion. He silently thanked Brendan for getting it out of the way now, in a very public setting while Merlin was not present.

He matched Brendan's tone when he replied. "If I were enchanted, do you suppose Merlin would have allowed himself to be injured and weakened by the stone that revealed his magic to all, then hauled away to spend over a week in my dungeons being beaten and starved? Do you suppose he would still be facing a coming trial?"

Brendan's eyes shifted rapidly in thought. "Perhaps, sire, he hadn't enchanted you yet," he suggested. "Perhaps you've only been enchanted for the past day or two. Since . . ." The man acted as if he were just coming to a horrifying conclusion and finished in a dramatically exaggerated whisper that carried to the crowd as intended, "Since he's been released."

The crowd began to murmur in concern.

"He hasn't been released," Arthur assured him coolly. "He's merely been relocated temporarily so that the Physician can attend to the injuries he's incurred. As to your other . . . concerns, enchantments require objects or potions and he has had neither access to the materials nor to my person, both of which would be required; he was, in fact, in a cell under your watch."

"Sire," Brendan persisted, "there is still a possibility."

"There is not," Arthur said firmly. "Aside from the fact that I don't believe Merlin would ever do such a thing, I have been examined by the Court Physician, who has experience with matters of both sorcery and the body and mind and has declared that my mind is my own. The Queen can verify that I have not been acting out of character in any way, nor have I been making any decisions without due consideration, both of which are typically signs of enchantment. My chambers have been thoroughly searched multiple times by a number of people for any signs of enchantments and have been found undisturbed, and both my chambers and myself have been under extra guard at all hours."

Brendan contemplated this information for long enough that Arthur had time to dread his reply. Even so, when it finally came, even he was surprised and appalled at how far the man was willing to go. Brendan spoke distinctly in a cold voice dripping with concealed rage and condescension. "You 'don't believe Merlin would do such a thing,' sire? He is a sorcerer who is already known to have been lying to all of us, including you, for years. And Gaius has certified that you are not under enchantment? Well, the boy is his ward, isn't he? He's practically a son to Gaius, and what parent wouldn't do anything to save their child? The Queen assures you that you are behaving normally and rationally? She visited the sorcerer in his cell nearly every day, so she is clearly close to him, and hasn't she already betrayed you once? It's entirely possible she aided him in the work of enchanting you. As to the searching of your chambers and the guarding of them and of yourself, well, searchers and guards can be bribed or threatened or enchanted, sire."

The chamber was so silent Arthur could hear Guinevere behind him taking deep calming breaths.

Fury pulsed through his body, not for the first time in this trial, but for the first time he allowed it to show clearly. "You dare," he said, slowly, in a low, dangerous voice, "slander trusted members of my court? You dare make vile, baseless accusations against my queen? Such an insult is as good as accusations against my own person." Now Brendan looked not only nervous, but downright afraid.

"It is not an enchantment that my queen is good and wise. It is not an enchantment that my physician has been faithfully serving my family and I since I was a child. It is not an enchantment that Merlin has been a good and faithful servant and friend for many years and has saved my life more than once. It is not an enchantment that there are good and honest people in this kingdom who are entirely above the reproaches of the likes of you.

"It is not an enchantment that Merlin was badly injured while housed in my dungeons; he was in my company the entire day leading up to his imprisonment and was in good health and after his imprisonment he is severely injured. It is not an enchantment that your four companions have confessed to unlawfully aiding in his condition, nor is it an enchantment that three of them have made statements that you directed them to do so and that you took it upon yourself to claim these directions as orders from myself. It is not an enchantment that you have lied to me, during this trial, by claiming that you did not participate in this abuse. It is not an enchantment that you have grossly slandered myself and my court.

"As to my belief that Merlin would not enchant me, I do not believe that to be the product of an enchantment for a number of reasons, not least of which is that he has been by my side for years and could have enchanted myself or my father at any time and made his life much easier, but did not. I know Merlin to be a good and kind and loyal man who would never do such a thing."

Arthur locked eyes with Brendan, who for once did not have anything to say. After a long moment, he waved the guards forward, "Take them back to the dungeons," he instructed. Then he addressed the audience, "Court is dismissed for the day."

With that, he turned on his heel to stride to Guinevere's side.

* * *

"Is Gwen alright?" Merlin asked anxiously as soon as Arthur opened the door to his room.

Arthur stopped abruptly and blinked at him. The younger man was kneeling on the nearer end of his bed, a hand braced against the bed post so he could lean closer to the door than was probably strictly safe without leaving the bed, as if he'd been straining to hear Arthur's conversation with Gaius in the other room. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his entire body was trembling and straining forward. Arthur was suddenly very uncomfortably reminded of the last time he'd visited Merlin in his cell, the caged sorcerer straining at the end of his chain, body trembling with concealed injury and exhaustion and starvation, and he snapped, "Get back in bed," before he could think, finger pointed imperiously toward the other end of the small bed.

Merlin didn't move—didn't even blink as he gazed up at Arthur with wide eyes—just said, very carefully and very calmly, "I am in bed."

"No," Arthur corrected harshly, "you're _on_ a bed. And you are very clearly not resting."

A closer look showed that he was more correct than he'd thought. Merlin's eyes had dropped at Arthur's reprimand and his body was stiff and tense as he slowly and carefully backed toward the head of the bed. He looked very far away from resting, more like a man faced with a dangerous beast and struggling not to enrage it, and that was Arthur's fault.

He stepped forward to put a hand on Merlin's shoulder—to stop him or to help him, he wasn't sure; he just wanted to reassure him in a way that didn't involve the thing he was the worst at: words. Unfortunately, Merlin turned just as he brought his hand down and rather than landing on the narrow shoulder, Arthur's hand swiped at the air just next to Merlin's face. Merlin had to jerk back to avoid being smacked across the cheek and nose and now froze, blinking rapidly in both shock and confusion as he tried to put together what had just happened. Arthur froze as well, watching Merlin carefully, his own hand still hovering in mid-air. The only thing that happened for several heartbeats was Merlin's brow wrinkling slightly in utter confusion.

Then Arthur reached out with his other hand, slowly, carefully, keeping in Merlin's line of sight, towards Merlin's shoulder. Merlin's eyes followed it carefully, but he didn't move or give any indication for Arthur to stop and Arthur didn't miss this time. Hand now on Merlin's shoulder, Arthur asked softly, "Are you okay?" Merlin nodded immediately, but it was jerky and uncontrolled and his eyes were staring somewhere into the distance under Arthur's outstretched arm.

Arthur lowered himself to the edge of the bed and tried to meet Merlin's eyes. "Merlin . . ." Merlin's eyes snapped to his, pleading for something, but Arthur wasn't sure what. He blurted out the only thing he could think of, "This bed is very uncomfortable, no wonder you didn't want to lie down."

Merlin laughed. It was nervous and desperate and edged with tears, but it was genuine. Arthur wanted to make him laugh again.

He also wanted to apologize for snapping at him. And say something to make this whole situation better. Something to make Merlin comfortable and happy again. He didn't know how to do that, though, what to say to accomplish any of those goals, let alone all of them, and they fell into silence instead, neither of them quite looking at the other.

It was Merlin who broke the silence, by asking again, "Is Gwen alright?" Arthur opened his mouth to ask how he'd known anything was wrong but before he voiced it Merlin explained, "Gwaine was here before you. Gave me a very detailed description of the rest of the trial."

"And colorful, no doubt," Arthur added dryly. Merlin grinned.

"Guinevere is fine," Arthur assured him. "I was actually more upset on her behalf than she was, I think; she said she was mainly concerned by the problems his accusations might cause you." Merlin made to protest, despite Guinevere's absence, and Arthur continued over him, "We had a long, quiet lunch together and I made sure she was completely fine before I left her."

He eyed the skinny sorcerer as the younger man relaxed at his assurances. "Speaking of lunch, have you—"

Merlin cut him off with a frustrated wave of his hand and an exasperated eye roll. "Yes. I've eaten. More than enough." Arthur raised an eyebrow and Merlin huffed and explained, "Gaius had two full bowls of stew in me before you even showed up this morning. Then he gave me another when I got back. And _then_ Gwaine forced me to eat another two full bowls and half a loaf of bread he got from I don't even want to know where." He looked at Arthur a little desperately and nearly begged, "I really can't eat anymore, Arthur. Please don't try to feed me."

Arthur rolled his own eyes and put on his best aristocratic air. "Don't be an idiot, Merlin. I wasn't going to try to feed you, I'm a king." Merlin snorted and Arthur growled at him, which naturally only made Merlin's smirk wider. "I can't say the same for my wife, however, if I have to call her down here and tell her you're not resting like Gaius said to."

Merlin scowled. "Arthur. I am resting."

"You're really not," Arthur corrected, much more gently than previously. "For one, resting generally involves not supporting one's own weight." Merlin glared down at his bed, or at the arms trembling beneath the meagre weight of his upper body, and Arthur tried for coaxing. "Merlin, you're shaking like a leaf. I understand if you don't want to lie down because of your injuries, but surely there's a more comfortable position that's also restful." Merlin remained stubborn, so he resorted to one of his more usual tactics: hard truths and insults. "Look, Merlin, you're badly injured, so maybe there isn't a comfortable position that's also restful. Maybe you just need to not be a girl about it."

Merlin moved towards the head of the bed again, grumbling as he went. "I imagine it would be a lot easier to find a comfortable position if I were as fat as some people."

"I am not fat," Arthur protested. "This is solid muscle. You just don't know what that looks like because you're built like an eight-year-old girl." He squinted. "Who's starving."

Merlin grumpily settled himself, mostly upright with one shoulder leaning against the wall above his bed, and sent a glare in Arthur's direction. "I'm not going to be for much longer if people keep stuffing me full of stew."

"Maybe they're just trying to shut you up," Arthur commented helpfully. "I'd stuff you full of stew if it would get you to shut up. Probably wouldn't work, though; you'd just talk around it."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I have manners, you prat."

"I've never seen them," Arthur declared.

Merlin sniffed and said primly, "You just don't recognize them when you do see them 'cause _you_ haven't got any."

Arthur made a face of disbelief. "I'm the king, you idiot."

"Hadn't noticed."

For lack of anything better to throw, Arthur snatched up Merlin's crumpled blanket and tossed it in his face. Merlin sputtered in grinning indignation.

Arthur watched him spread the blanket over himself, struggling slightly, saw the bandages on his wrists and the fingers that should have been sure and steady and weren't, and knew it was time to discuss what he'd come here for. "Merlin," he said; Merlin glanced up in acknowledgment and returned to his task. "We need to talk about the trial."

Merlin's movements faltered, but he didn't look up. Just continued fussing with his blanket as he said quietly, "Gwaine said you've put a lot of thought into whether or not I might have enchanted you." There was an odd look on what Arthur could see of his face.

"Only because I knew the accusation was likely to come up at some point," Arthur said reasonably. He reached for the nearer end of the blanket himself, shifting closer along the edge of the bed as he tugged it straight. "I knew you would never—"

"I did," Merlin cut in, voice little more than a hoarse whisper. He finally met Arthur's eyes and his own were filled with tears. Arthur finally placed the expression that had been on his face: miserable guilt. "I enchanted you," he whispered, closing his eyes and turning into the wall. His knees trembled as he pulled them tighter to himself, all sharp angles pressed to the wall under a too-thin blanket and shaking with guilt. He wasn't looking at Arthur anymore, but must have known somehow that he was blinking at him without comprehension because he continued without prompting. "When Morgana invaded. This last time. We had to go and I knew you wouldn't leave without a fight but I didn't think I could keep you safe here. I—I enchanted you so you would come with me."

"That's why I don't remember most of it," Arthur realized. Merlin made a noise of agreement that might have also been a sob. "You said I hit my head," he added, unamused.

For a moment there was no response from Merlin except a hitch in his breathing and a tear sliding down his face. Then he said, in a very small, very sad voice, "I'm sorry."

"For saving my life?" Arthur asked dryly.

Merlin uncurled enough to look at him, brow furrowed in a confused question even as he gave a firm shake of the head, and Arthur smiled at the fierce, resounding _never_ implied.

"Merlin," he asked, "do you know why I believed you when you said I got hit on the head?" Another shake of the head, this one wary and careful. "Because I trusted you." A flinch this time, a shaky breath, and his eyes falling away as they filled with tears again. Arthur leaned forward, getting into Merlin's line of sight and placing a hand on the lump that he thought was an arm to be sure he had Merlin's full attention and said firmly, "I still do."

That got a full-body reaction: tense limbs sliding loose, head and eyes shooting up, mouth dropping open and working soundlessly. The blanket fell away, forgotten. And Merlin stared incredulously.

"Merlin, you saved my life. You did the right thing, as you always do, regardless of my idiocy, and you saved me. And Camelot. You are a good man, Merlin, and having to make hard choices doesn't change that."

Merlin released a sob that seemed to shake his entire body, followed by a shaky inhale, and his hands began fluttering uselessly as he cried. Arthur was momentarily at a loss for what to do, his own hands rising to mirror Merlin's movements in a slightly less erratic fashion, before he finally settled one on a nearby limb. A moment later, his arms were full of a bony, sobbing sorcerer, clinging to his neck with a shaky desperation.

Arthur waited until the sobs had died down into sniffles and the trembling man had relaxed before speaking. "Merlin?" A sniff and a muffled, mumbled, completely unintelligible reply. "You are far too thin; your bony knees _hurt_. I'm going to start feeding you stew to _fatten you up_." He poked Merlin in the ribs as the younger man pulled back.

Merlin wiped his eyes and nose, sniffed, and looked up at Arthur. "That won't be necessary. You have enough padding for the both of us."

Arthur locked an arm around his neck and rubbed his knuckles in his hair. "What was that?"

"I said, extra padding would be nice!" Arthur released him and Merlin pulled back, glaring sullenly. "Are you going to make me eat stew _now_?" he demanded grumpily. He looked a little sick at the very idea.

"Maybe before I go," Arthur shrugged. "We still need to talk about the trial and I promised you I'd talk to you before I passed judgment."

Merlin's smile was like sunshine breaking through a stormcloud.

* * *

Arthur paused just inside the dungeon, assaulted by memories of the men he was going to see and of their victim. Merlin, at his last visit here, pale and strained and anxious, shaking from emotion and pain and hunger and exhaustion and fever and trying to hide it from Arthur; that image mirrored in the man's actions after the trial. Brendan, sneering as he glared at Merlin and spoke as if he were scum beneath his boots, not at all regretful of his actions and the hurt they had caused Arthur's friend. Merlin, scared of Arthur's reaction to his injuries, pulling away as they walked and huddling on Gaius's bed, afraid of Arthur as he'd never been in all the years he'd known him, regardless of circumstances—as he should never be. Alistair, scoffing and declaring that Merlin deserved this torture just because Arthur had thrown him in the dungeons. Merlin, unsettled and uncertain, flinching away from Arthur's actions, even days later, despite both of them trying to regain familiar footing. Frideric and two of his companions and Merlin himself, stating that these actions had been claimed as orders from Arthur; Merlin doubting Arthur's care for him and his own worth, that small, heartbroken "Even me?" that haunted Arthur still and likely would for a long time to come. Merlin, sobbing in his arms again in surprised relief that he wouldn't be condemned for making a difficult decision to save Arthur's life.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Arthur continued on until he came within sight of the cell that had so recently been Merlin's and the five men who had so recently been his tormentors. The guards, having followed him down the passageway from their post, stopped behind him, waiting, and in the wake of their booted footsteps there fell a silence. Arthur eyed the imprisoned men.

None of them were chained as Merlin had been.

None of them looked like they were suffering even half as much as Merlin currently was.

He felt the desire to hurt these men as they'd hurt Merlin welling up in him once more and ruthlessly tamped it down before it overwhelmed him completely; he had made Merlin a promise that he would handle this "rationally" and he intended to keep it.

"Bring me Frideric," he commanded the guards without looking away from the cell. They stepped forward to comply and Frideric did as well, standing ready before the door before they'd even opened it and promptly stepping through, shoulders squared and head inclined deferentially. The guards hesitated, shuffling as if they were uncertain what they should be doing, and one of them made to start toward the guard post, and the manacles waiting there for use, most likely.

"Wait here," Arthur ordered them. "I will take it from here."

With a gesture to Frideric to start walking, he fell in silently beside the older man. Just next to the guard's station was a private cell with an actual wooden door, often used for more sensitive prisoners and conversations. It was there that Arthur led Frideric, gesturing for him to precede him inside and closing the door behind the both of them. Frideric stood silently at attention.

Arthur studied the man for a moment before he began speaking. "You've served the Crown well for many years, Frideric. I am saddened it has come to this." Frideric inclined his head in agreement.

Arthur had to ask. "Did you truly believe I could issue such orders?"

Frideric hesitated, but finally raised his eyes to meet Arthur's. "May I speak frankly, sire?" Arthur nodded curtly.

"As you say, sire, I have served the Crown for many years. Since before you were born, in fact. When your mother was lost to us, your father began to change. If you'll pardon my saying so, he went mad in his fight against magic. As time passed, he began to make decisions no one would have expected before your mother's passing, especially if sorcery was so much as _mentioned_. He slaughtered _children_ , sire.

"You . . . —you are a better king than he, but you were not always the man you are today. I remember you as a lad. There was a time—there were many years, in which you followed your father's teachings blindly, in spite of yourself, and you had a tendency towards being a bully. Now I have watched you grow from that boy into the man and king I know you to be today, good and just and wise. I have put my faith in you and have been truly honored to serve you since you have taken the throne.

"But I saw your anger when young Merlin was revealed as a sorcerer, I heard your order to arrest him despite your friendship, and I allowed myself to doubt. I feared you were following in your father's footsteps once more. That, like him, loss may have driven you to change.

"Perhaps, had I not allowed myself to doubt you, had I had more faith in you, had I made the effort to speak out, I could have stopped what has happened. But I did not, and for that I am truly sorry. I hope yourself and young Merlin may one day be able to forgive me for my part in these atrocities, sire; I know I never will. But regardless, I will serve you as faithfully as you will allow. And I will never doubt you again, sire."

Arthur took a moment to absorb this information, acknowledging the truth about his father and his own past, and about his more recent actions, and admitting to himself the portion of blame he held.

"Thank you for your honesty, Frideric," he finally said. Frideric bowed deeply in acknowledgment.

"Your part in this, as you say, atrocity, while regrettable, does not appear to have been malicious, to the best of my knowledge. You have admitted to following these false orders in good faith, but not to any additional cruelty, and have expressed your regrets well. Merlin has spoken well of you also, and begged mercy on your behalf." Frideric appeared surprised at this news. Arthur continued, "In light of this, and your previous years of excellent service, my judgment is this: you are hereby dismissed from service to the Crown, effective immediately, with any and all benefits rightfully earned for previous service. You may go in peace, with no stain on your character."

Frideric's surprise had only grown and he bowed deeply. "Thank you, sire!"

Arthur nodded his welcome and reached to open the door, pausing before he let the man pass. "On a more personal note, Frideric, I apologize for my part in creating this situation and leading you to believe these orders may have possibly been mine, and I accept your own apology for your part. If you wish Merlin's forgiveness, I suggest you seek that yourself directly from the source; I have no doubt it will be granted. He is currently confined to Gaius's chambers."

Frideric bowed again, murmuring his thanks, and hurried away. Arthur took a moment to compose himself, breathing deeply and blowing it back out in a rush. One down, four to go. He marched back to the cell.

The guards, who had clearly seen Frideric leave and were trying to pretend they weren't watching Arthur with ardent curiosity, actually startled when he stopped in front of them and abruptly commanded, "Aldis."

Like Frideric before him, Aldis waited before the door until it was open, then stepped through on his own. Again, Arthur led the prisoner silently to the private cell and closed the door after them.

"Aldis," he began bluntly, "you have confessed to horrendous acts. You have admitted to knowing these acts to be not only morally reprehensible, but illegal and wholly uncalled for as well. You have failed abominably, both in your duties as a Royal Guard of Camelot and as a man. In my opinion, you are not worthy of _respect_ , let alone mercy.

"However, someone I _do_ respect has spoken on your behalf. Merlin has forgiven you the torment you put him through and has asked that I grant you clemency on the grounds that he has faith in you and your future betterment. He was very persuasive."

Arthur paused and studied the man before him, trying to see past his anger to what Merlin saw. "Personally, I considered having you flogged and banished immediately, but for Merlin's sake I will not do that. Instead I give you a choice: you may leave Camelot immediately, never to return on pain of death but with no further harm to your person, or you may stay and face a punishment of ten lashes and a number of days in the stocks equal to the number of shifts you took charge of Merlin. Either way, you will no longer hold a position in the Royal Guard or anywhere else in my citadel."

Aldis bowed deeply for a long moment, silent and considering. When he rose and spoke at last, there were tears in his voice. "Sire, I thank you for your graciousness; I do not deserve it, as I do not deserve Merlin's forgiveness—" Arthur made a noise of agreement. "—but I swear to you on my life that I will strive to earn both, with everything that I am, from this moment forward." He looked up and met Arthur's eyes, squaring his shoulders with a deep breath. "I should like to stay in Camelot, sire."

Arthur found himself slightly impressed with this man's courage despite himself. It would not be easy to face either the punishment itself, nor the life after among those who knew his mistakes. After a week in the stocks, there wouldn't be a soul in Camelot who didn't recognize the man on sight and know every detail of his confession, likely exaggerated. Aldis must know this as well as Arthur and yet he was willing to face it, to try to prove himself a better man to those same people who had seen his mistakes.

"A word of advice, Aldis." The man nodded and Arthur sent him a stern glare and a warning, "Don't let Merlin down."

Aldis nodded once more, and Arthur returned it and turned on his heel to stride from the room and summon one of the guards. He explained what Aldis's punishment would be and sent him away to see that it was done, a now-bound Aldis in tow. With Aldis taken care of, he returned to the cell once more.

"Gerald," he barked and the remaining guard snapped to open the door. The prisoner in question was much slower to respond, dragging his feet and even pausing on occasion, and the door hung open for an irritatingly long time before he shuffled through, shoulders hunched, eyes down, and hands and arms in constant nervous motion. He followed Arthur to the private cell with equal reluctance, and Arthur became increasingly tempted to strangle him and have done with it.

Arthur, having lost any remaining patience on the journey there had barely shut the door when he growled, "Gerald, you are an abhorrent, pitiful excuse for a man, cruel and cowardly, with so few thoughts of your own one must question what exactly the purpose of your brain is. You have confessed to numerous vile and illegal acts and are henceforth banished from Camelot. You will be escorted immediately to the city limits and should you ever return I will have you flogged and hung."

The man stared at him with wide-eyed shock throughout his declaration, as if he'd honestly expected a different outcome, and when Arthur had finished he fell to his knees and wailed, "No! Please! You can't! You can't throw me out because of a mistake with one prisoner! Please, King Arthur, I was deceived! I was _tricked_! I—"

"Enough!" Arthur snapped. "Enough of your lies and excuses and moaning. My decision is final: you are banished."

The man fell blubbering on the floor as Arthur left the room to retrieve the remaining guard, instructing him to escort the prisoner as far as someone who could take him to the city limits and ensure he was well on his way to leaving the kingdom. The man hesitated to leave, but Arthur assured him he would remain until the guard had returned and would watch over the prisoners. The man finally bowed and prepared to leave.

"And on your return," Arthur instructed, "wait outside."

When he stepped into the cell, Alistair glared with hatred.

Brendan, on the other, hand appeared to still have hope that he could somehow escape punishment for his crimes against Merlin. "Sire," he began in that oily voice of his, with a deep bow, "I apologize profoundly if any of my remarks offended you. I assure you that was not my intention, I was merely concerned for your well-being."

"You were concerned for your own well-being," Arthur corrected, sharp ice in his words.

Brendan didn't even have the grace to look ashamed or defeated, even to pretend. Instead, he suddenly looked angry, eyes flashing and voice hissing. "You're siding with a sorcerer and a liar and a former servant over a man who has served in the Royal Guard since before the little whelp was even _around_ , let alone given the entirely undeserved privilege of a position in the royal household."

Arthur stepped closer, nose-to-nose with the man, and glared. His fists were clenched at his sides, but he spoke carefully and clearly. "I am siding with a _friend_ over the _coward_ who tortured him just because he could. And as to who deserves what, Merlin has been more than loyal and has risked his life to save mine more times than I even know, and it is I who doesn't deserve for him to have a position in the royal household. You, however, deserve the exact same treatment you gave Merlin. You deserve to be beaten and starved and terrorized for a very long time and had _Merlin_ not intervened, you would be. Instead, you are going to get the treatment he _should have had_. For the rest of your life. Right here in this very cell."

He had a heartbeat only to savor the look on Brendan's face before Alistair roared and launched himself at Arthur. Instead of the worry or downright terror he should have felt—the man was absolutely enormous and filled with feral rage—he only felt grim satisfaction that a fight had been started and he now had an excuse to exercise some of his anger. He side-stepped and used the man's own momentum against him, redirecting his charge so that he ran face-first into the stone wall.

As Alistair staggered back, blood already pouring from both his nose and a cut above one eyebrow, Arthur turned his attention to Brendan who had made a move for the door the moment Arthur was distracted. He caught the man by the back of the shirt, reeled him back enough to get an arm solidly around his neck, and turned them both just in time to meet an unsteady but powerful blow from Alistair. Brendan's already broken nose began to bleed anew, his jaw hung at a sickening angle and his head rolled on his shoulders; when Arthur released him, he dropped limply to the ground without protest.

Before Alistair could completely recover, Arthur fired off a set of rapid punches to his face and body, then a hard kick to the inside of one of his knees. The large man staggered under the onslaught, but caught himself on the wall before he fell, glaring at Arthur through his one good eye. For a moment, the two men eyed each other, both burning with rage and tingling with adrenalin.

Then Alistair launched himself blindly again and Arthur easily twisted out of the way, bringing an elbow back to catch the other man just behind the ear and directing a heel to the back of a knee. The two blows combined with his own momentum brought Alistair crashing down on his hands and knees.

Arthur drew his sword; Alistair tensed and froze at the sound. With one foot, Arthur knocked the man the rest of the way to the ground and nudged him over onto his back. Alistair's eye followed the sword as it moved gracefully through the air to hover over his throat.

"You're a bully, Alistair," Arthur said softly. "You like to hurt other people just because they're smaller than you, physically or in some other way, and you think that makes you better somehow. You think the way to prove that you're the best is to constantly prove how much better you are than everyone around you, to constantly grind other people into the dirt in every way possible so that you look better by comparison, to make everybody afraid of you. You think your worth is defined by what people think of you, by the respect other people show you. But you're wrong. It doesn't work that way. Stepping on other people doesn't actually make you any bigger, it just makes you alone, with a life full of hollow victories and entirely dependent on other people.

"I know, because I used to be a bully, too. I used to humiliate people just because I could and I liked that power, but that was wrong. Merlin helped me see that. He made me better, _actually_ better." Arthur looked around the cell, the place where he had sent Merlin in a fit of anger to be tortured by the man in front of him and the place where this man would now spend the rest of his life.

"Maybe somehow he can do the same for you," he said.

And then he sheathed his sword, walked away, and didn't look back.

* * *

 **As always, comments, critiques, and constructive criticism are more than welcome as I am always looking to improve!**

 **Have an outstanding day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


	10. Trial of the Century

**Edited chapter uploaded 8/4/18.**

* * *

 **DAY 19:**

"Ready?" Arthur asked, though whether the question was directed at himself or the sorcerer sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, even he couldn't be sure. Merlin nodded anyway, but it was stiff and he didn't look up from the floor.

They'd just finished another long, honest conversation, one of many since Merlin's magic had been revealed, and Merlin looked as anxious for this trial to finally be over as Arthur felt. The younger man's shoulders were hunched forward as he rested his elbows on his knees, the dark circles under his eyes were prominent, and there had been a hesitance all morning that Arthur had yet to uncover the source of.

Since Arthur had made the mistake of arresting his closest friend, and the unthinkable events that had followed, Merlin had been quite subdued. He was nervous and wary as he told Arthur of his actions with magic since coming to Camelot—at least, everything major—but despite how hard it was for both of them, Arthur trusted that he hadn't kept anything important back. Arthur had assured him that he had nothing to fear from Arthur for his confessions, that he was grateful for everything Merlin had done for Camelot and himself, but Merlin still struggled with his own guilt and a nameless fear that Arthur couldn't understand. Their friends had all stopped by to see Merlin at some point and most reported the same hesitance; Merlin seemed incapable of accepting a lack of blame from anybody besides Guinevere, Gaius, Gwaine, and his mother.

There had been several times during the long and difficult process in which Arthur had needed to step away to allow either Merlin or himself to clear his head; he had required an entire day after learning of Merlin's release of the dragon before the younger man could stop cringing with dread and meet his eyes, and Gaius had insisted Merlin take a calming draught and have some peace for an entire afternoon after he'd told the story of the druid girl he'd tried to save.

His hesitance was different this morning, though, not out of anxiety but somehow more, and Arthur wasn't sure of the cause.

It hurt him to see Merlin struggling through this, but there was very little he could do except offer reassurances and see the process through to the end. He waited another moment in silence for Merlin to gather himself and hopefully address the issue that was bothering him.

When Merlin gave no indication of doing anything of the sort, he decided to bring it up himself, blurting, "What's wrong with you?" Merlin's head jerked up, hurt and confusion and uncertainty written all over his face, though he wasn't meeting Arthur's eyes, and Arthur realized how he could have been misunderstood. "I mean, uh, what's—what's troubling you?" Merlin pulled a face. "Fine," Arthur huffed. "I can tell something's wrong, just tell me what it is, idiot."

Merlin's head dropped again, but as he seemed to be working out how to say what he was thinking, Arthur left him to it.

"Thank you," Merlin finally said, addressing the floor. "For—for still . . . _caring_. About me. And for lifting the ban on magic. And listening to my side of things. And . . . for everything, I guess." He looked up and finally met Arthur's eyes with his own, red-rimmed and full of tears in spite of the crooked grin. "I didn't completely hate being your manservant and . . . you've been a good friend." He ducked his head again and sniffed, overwhelmed.

"Merlin," Arthur said, mock warning, "it sounds like you're saying goodbye and you know how I hate it when you try to say goodbye." Merlin shrugged and snorted, then had to wipe his nose on his sleeve. Emotional girl. Arthur was going to have to stoop to his level, though, to get through to him. He sighed and gripped the nearest shoulder in a friendly squeeze. Merlin looked up. "Merlin," he said honestly, "I have never been half the friend you deserve, in all the time I've known you. You are the best friend a man could ask for, far better than me, and you are the one person I trust with anything and everything, including Guinevere. You deserve so much more than what I've done and been for you. You certainly don't deserve to have lived your life in fear, nor do you deserve to be facing a trial, simply because of how you were born. I—Merlin, I would have changed the laws on magic just for you, do you know that?" Merlin stared at him, wide-eyed, and made an abortive movement to shake his head. "But you pointed out what I didn't know, made me see sense as you usually do, so of course I lifted the ban on magic. And of course I listened to your side of things, you have more than earned it and you have helped me become the kind of king that seeks justice like that." Merlin blinked rapidly and lowered his head again. Arthur ducked his own head to catch Merlin's eye. "Of course, I care about you, you idiot, how could I not?"

Arthur sat back, paused, then clapped Merlin on the shoulder and stood. "You make a terrible manservant, though." Merlin grinned up at him, relief and happiness flooding his features.

When Arthur offered Merlin a hand to pull him to his feet, Merlin took it without hesitation. When Arthur turned to exit into the main room, Merlin followed on his heels. For that brief moment, everything was exactly as it should be.

It didn't last long.

The moment they stepped into the main room, Hunith stepped towards her son and Arthur stepped away to allow them as much privacy as possible. He couldn't discern the words they said, just a quiet murmur of voices, and he was trying to avoid staring, but it quickly became evident that they were sharing goodbyes. Arthur's heart sank.

He had been avoiding Hunith since he had become aware of her arrival the morning after the last trial, glad of her presence for Merlin's sake, but dreading it for his own. This woman had trusted him with her son and he had imprisoned him and allowed him to be treated brutally and was even now putting him on trial before his council and all of Camelot. He worried about her attendance at the trial, about the stress it might cause her to see Merlin be put through that and about the stress it might cause Merlin to be aware of her presence. But more than that, he owed her an apology and didn't know where to begin. How could he face Merlin's mother after everything he'd learned and _done_ in the last few weeks?

He couldn't delay it any longer, though, needed to reassure her that he bore no ill will towards her son and that he considered Merlin's previous treatment unacceptable, before the trial and all that that would entail, so when she stepped away from her son, reluctant and agonized, and allowed Gaius to take her place, he spoke. "Hunith. I wonder if I might escort you to the throne room." All three of them looked up in surprise. He shifted. "If you wish to attend the trial, that is."

His eyes darted between them: Gaius inscrutable, Hunith smiling slightly but still surprised, and most importantly, Merlin, who didn't seem at all bothered by the idea of his king escorting his mother to his trial and in fact smiled encouragingly at her when she glanced at him.

Her smile grew in turn as she turned back and dropped a shallow curtsey. "Thank you, your majesty. I would appreciate the escort, particularly from the king himself. I'm honored."

Arthur knew he probably grimaced or looked alarmed or some awkward combination of the two at her answer, but he offered her his arm and she took it easily. She waved goodbye to Merlin and Gaius, who both looked amused and confounded, as Arthur opened the door.

The sight of two guards on the other side of the door, large chains in their hands with manacles waiting for Merlin's wrists and ankles, made things immensely worse. His chest tightened in unreasonable panic as he ushered Hunith hurriedly past, nodding distractedly in response to their bows, and issuing a curt command for them to wait a moment for Gaius to release Merlin.

They descended the staircase and made it almost the entire way to the next turning before Arthur worked up the nerve to speak to Hunith, though he refused to look at her. "It's a formality," he blurted. Her steps stuttered and he explained, "The chains and . . .—He's a prisoner and that's—Only until the trial's over."

It was a moment before she responded and Arthur felt himself sweating and itching, despite the fact that her hand still rested easily on his arm and she hadn't faltered in her steps again. When she did speak, it was calm and brief. "I see." There was no condemnation in her voice and when he dared to sneak a glance at her face, there was none there, either. Instead, if he didn't know any better, he might have said there were traces of amusement and fondness in both. That couldn't be right.

But then it occurred to him that this was the woman who had single-handedly raised Merlin to be the kindest, most forgiving person Arthur had ever met and that perhaps Merlin had learned that attitude by example. He relaxed slightly, less wary of hurting her. This woman had raised a child with magic, as an unwed mother, and had done so in a way that left neither of them bitter; she was strong. This woman had welcomed him into her home and shared what meagre food she had without complaint, not once but twice, and had done the same for Guinevere when Arthur had banished her; she was kind. What was done was done, and an apology could not change that—it could not hurt her any more than she already had been and it could not make her hate him any more than she already may—but it could make things right. He owed that to Hunith and Merlin both.

He pulled her gently to a halt and turned them to face one another, squared his shoulders and met her eyes. "Hunith," he said gravely, "I owe you an apology for Merlin's treatment while he was housed in my dungeons; while I accept full responsibility for my part in the situation, I assure you I never meant him any harm or undue distress and that is not behavior I condone from my guards. He is safe here, going forward, I assure you." She smiled softly and nodded. He could no longer meet her eyes as he continued, "Beyond that, I fear I owe you an apology for so much more. For everything that you and Merlin have had to suffer at the hands of Camelot. Merlin told me of his father and a little of his childhood and I cannot apologize enough for that. I cannot apologize enough for the fear you must have felt since I met him, for everything Merlin has suffered since then on my behalf and because of his association with me." He raised his eyes again.

"I also owe you my thanks, many thousand times over, for raising Merlin to be the man he is. I would not be the man I am without him. He has been a true and wonderful friend, more than I even knew, for so many years, in spite of everything that I have put him through; he has never wavered and I can't tell you how much that means to me. I can't tell you how much _he_ means to me. I can never thank you enough, for Merlin and for the understanding you have shown me so far; you have every right to be angry or scared or anything else." He took a deep breath. Hunith surprised him by reaching out and resting a comforting hand on his arm and he almost couldn't continue for a moment.

"All I can offer you are my apologies and my assurances. Merlin faces punishment today—I am sorry for that, truly, but I cannot let his crimes pass for a number of reasons, not least of which is fear that he would be accused of enchanting me and killed anyway—but I will do my best to spare him as much as I can, I swear it on my mother's memory. I have no desire to cause him harm, in any way, now or in the future. I will fight for him."

Hunith considered his words for a moment, but did not remove her hand. "Thank you," she finally said. Arthur was startled. After _that_ , she was _thanking him_? But then hadn't Merlin just thanked him a few moments ago when he had very little reason to be grateful to Arthur? Hunith saw his confusion and explained. "Thank you for your apologies, though they weren't necessary; my Merlin has explained what happened in the dungeons and he has made it very clear that you are not at fault."

"Merlin is entirely too likely to forgive what he probably shouldn't," Arthur cut in, grumbling and scowling.

Hunith smiled. "That is true, but I have also seen your care for my son, in the times you have visited Ealdor and in the past few days, and I know you would not harm him on purpose." Arthur hadn't thought he'd been that obvious. She tilted her head and caught his eye again. "And I know you to be a good man, a just king, and I know you would not allow anyone to come to harm unnecessarily if you could help it." Arthur blinked. "As for your other apologies being unnecessary, people can only be held responsible for their own choices, your majesty. You cannot be held responsible for the choices of your father or Merlin's, or for my choices, or for Merlin's choices, or for the choices of your enemies, or the choices of your guards; you are responsible for yours and yours alone. And you have been very good for my son."

"But—" he tried and failed to find the words to answer such complete forgiveness, let alone the astounding claim that he had somehow been _good_ for Merlin.

Hunith tutted and took his arm once more, turning them to continue their journey. "Thank you for taking the time to give me your apologies and assurances, your majesty."

"You're welcome," Arthur stammered, dazed. "How do you—?"

Hunith raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in question, looking rather like her son in that moment. "How do I know you care for my son? How do I know that you are a good man? How do I know that you care for your people?" Arthur nodded wordlessly and belatedly remembered to close his mouth. Hunith chuckled. "Arthur Pendragon, when we met you came to the rescue of a town outside your kingdom's borders, against your father's wishes, because people were suffering, because injustice was being done, because Merlin was there. And anyone with eyes could have seen your care for him over the last several days, that you regret the harm that has been done him and are concerned with his recovery. Not to mention the matter of his current lodgings."

Arthur felt his ears heat and pulled on his court façade. She could be referring to the fact that Merlin had been staying in his own little room since Arthur had discovered his injuries; sending Merlin back to the dungeons would have been hard on him in a number of ways, not least of which had to do with Brendan and Alistair and their own current lodgings, and Arthur had excused it by telling himself that he couldn't send him back to the dungeons until Gaius released him—he pointedly ignored the fact that everyone around them knew that Gaius would have released Merlin days ago if Arthur had bothered to ask after Merlin's health and that he had not asked specifically for that reason, pretending to forget. She could be referring to the fact that a warmer blanket and softer mattress and pillow had appeared in said chambers. She could be referring to the fact that Merlin had shared from Arthur's own plate as often as not—for convenience since they were already in the same room conversing he would tell anyone who asked—and had a suspicious supply of the best possible food otherwise. She could be referring to all of it.

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're referring to," Arthur said haughtily. "His care has been left entirely in Gaius's hands while he is recovering; any issues with Merlin's lodgings should be taken up with him."

Hunith smiled and turned away to hide it. "Of course, your majesty." He released a relieved breath, thinking the matter settled, and then she added, "Of course, the king couldn't possibly have anything to do with the lodgings of a prisoner, clearly that is beneath him, just as I presume visiting the prisoner before his trial and escorting his mother to the trial are beneath a king."

Arthur gaped at the words and the teasing tone, and was about to retort when they turned a corner and suddenly came upon a crowd flooding the intersection ahead and held back by guards. The hall full of people passed directly in front of the main doors of the throne room, Arthur's destination, and they seemed to all be heading to the same place, though they had stopped and were currently standing in place. Arthur called one of the nearer guards over, stepping slightly away from Hunith to speak to him.

"Are these people not being allowed in?" he questioned quietly.

The guard looked up at him with wide eyes. "They can't fit, sire."

"Can't fit?" Arthur asked incredulously.

The guard nodded. "Yes, sire. The throne room's already stuffed full." Arthur raised an eyebrow and the man added after a pause. "So are all the passageways between here and the courtyard, and the entire courtyard, and maybe a bit past the gates, sire. The queen ordered guards at every turn-off along the way or likely the whole citadel'd be full. The city's basically empty and everyone's here."

Arthur nodded his understanding and turned to Hunith, stepping back toward her and stretching out an arm to draw her forward. "This is Hunith," he told the man, "a friend of mine. She is to be escorted safely into the throne room, to a place of her choice, and afforded every courtesy. If anyone can be spared, I would appreciate it if someone would stay and ensure her safety in the crowd."

Hunith's eyes had grown wide. "Oh, that's not necessary, your majesty, I can just—"

"Hunith, please," Arthur interrupted. "Allow me to look after you today."

She hesitated, then smiled and dropped a curtsey. "Thank you, your majesty. It would be my honor."

Arthur looked her in the eyes. "You are always welcome, Hunith."

He watched the guard lead her away, shouting and burrowing into the crowd, and made his way to the smaller side entrance, pausing a moment to observe the room from his relatively peaceful vantage point just out in the hall and a few steps up. The guard had not been exaggerating the size of the crowd, stuffed was a very good word for the scene in front of him. The room bustled as people from every walk of life elbowed for room and a chance to see Merlin, who was being guided to his knees in the center of it all; he took a moment to note that the guards—the same two Leon had selected for the last trial—were just as gentle as before. On either side of Merlin stretched a long table, near enough that he could touch both at the same time without straining, each with lords sitting closely together around the outside. The tables were in turn pressed tightly against the front edge of the dais containing the thrones and the dais was pressed against the back wall. The crowd of onlookers swelled to surround Merlin and council and thrones on every possible side, pressing up against the backs of the council's chairs. The din of conversation was overwhelming, even from outside.

This was the first trial of a known magic user since Arthur's changes had been announced and that alone would have been enough to draw a crowd, even without Arthur's encouragement—and he _had_ encouraged it, simultaneously wanting to gauge the response of his people as a whole and to change the minds of those who opposed the new law. But that was not the only draw: Merlin had been in both Arthur's personal service and Gaius's for years and was a well-established figure within the citadel and to a lesser extent within the town at large, an infamy which had only grown with the rumors of his magic and then of his treatment within the dungeons and his actions at the last trial. This crowd was probably bigger than that drawn by his coronation, cementing the idea that this was the biggest, most important trial of Arthur's reign and likely always would be, barring the capture and trial of Morgana herself.

Arthur observed Merlin as his guards stepped back and took up positions behind him, keeping the eager crowd at bay. His hands trembled slightly as they had since his injury—Gaius said it had something to do with the damage to his wrists—but he was surprisingly calm, no sign of fear or stress. He knelt in that terribly small space, with people gawking or glaring at him from only a few paces away on three sides, bound hand and foot and on trial for his life, but his shoulders were back and his posture straight. Arthur was proud of him for that; he himself already felt stifled by the crowd and the weight of the trial, even as the king presiding over it and still hovering outside.

Arthur braced himself, took a deep breath, and plunged through the door. The crowd parted before him and hushed; by the time he made it to his throne and settled comfortably, the room was silent and still. He looked at Merlin, catching him watching, and the younger man bowed—stiff and shallow from injury and restraint, but polite and respectful and obedient. The rattle of Merlin's chains was loud in the silence.

Arthur nodded in return, not showy, but enough to indicate that he respected Merlin enough to acknowledge his silent greeting. He spoke without rising, to avoid crowding Merlin further and having to stand for the lengthy testimony he and Merlin had discussed. "Merlin," he said, in a clear, carrying voice that easily reached the back of the hall, serious, but not unkind, "you come before the court today accused of practicing sorcery and of hiding it for a number of years from myself and my father before me by lying to your king. Have you anything to say to these charges?"

Merlin raised his head and met Arthur's eyes. His voice was equally as carrying, but where Arthur's had been commanding, Merlin's was infinitely respectful; where Arthur had softened his tone, Merlin's was firm and unyielding. "I was born with magic and have only ever used it for the good of Camelot and my king. I lied only that I might continue to serve both."

There were hisses and growls from the council surrounding him, a few words of warning and disbelief. "Watch your tone, boy," someone commanded.

Arthur raised a hand. "Peace," he said calmly. "You claim to have used magic for the good of Camelot. How?"

Merlin swallowed and began to speak of things he'd accomplished with magic during his time in Camelot: battles with sorcerers and magical creatures he'd won, illnesses he'd healed, and immortal armies he'd helped defeat. As Arthur had previously commanded him, he didn't mention the dragon or his druid love or the prophecies or anything he'd done under disguise as Dragoon—including the circumstances surrounding Uther's death—spoke as little of Morgana as possible, and gave only the vaguest impression of the true scope of his power.

It was not without difficulty that he told his story though. Arthur thought he likely would have been okay to speak of the things he was, given all the conversations they'd already had on the subject, had he been allowed to do so peaceably, but he was constantly interrupted by a barrage of shouts and hisses and growls from the council, alternately threatening him to be silent or honest and accusing him of lying, of mocking the court and his king, of enchanting Arthur, of being arrogant and evil and cunning and ruthless and vile, of being a monster. Arthur could see the tension in his friend increasing as the lords became more vocal, his hands clenching as much as he was able in his injured state, fingers twitching erratically, voice tightening and rising. But he kept his eyes on Arthur, who tried to send him courage through sheer strength of will, and he kept going.

Until one particular incident finally caused him to falter: "Shut your lying mouth, you inconstant son of the Devil and his whore, before I rip out that forked tongue of yours and burn it along with the rest of you," Lord Ingram roared, pounding both fists on the table and rising to loom threateningly over it. He was a large, red-faced man who had ceased activity of any kind the moment he was retired from knighthood for an injury that was rather less troubling than he liked to pretend and Arthur had never liked him nor felt particularly intimidated by him, even when he had just begun his training and Ingram had been a knight in his prime many, many years ago. But Ingram was a large man in both height and girth, broad-shouldered with large fists currently white from anger, and a lord of the council besides and Merlin was a skinny peasant sorcerer on trial for his life, kneeling just three paces away from the towering form, already under quite a bit of stress, and that was quite a threat—Arthur could not fault him for his response. He flinched bodily away, from the words or the looming presence or both, eyes darting wildly over to the furious lord, wide and terrified; his entire body was rigid and shaking, his jaw particularly tense, and his breathing was quick and harsh. He was not even attempting to speak at the moment. Lord Ingram seethed on, spittle flying over the table and into Merlin's little space, "You will end this farce," he commanded, "or I will end it myself by sending you to your father where you belong."

Merlin hesitated at the threat, clearly terrified and struggling to stay in control of himself, but glanced at Arthur and began speaking again, voice trembling and stumbling over words unintelligibly, eyes never leaving the irate lord. Lord Ingram continued to shout threats, looming closer as if he were prepared to leap over the table. Another lord began to complain, something about the trial devolving into chaos. There were murmurs from both the council and the crowd that seemed to be agreeing with both and some that Arthur couldn't hope to understand through the cacophony. Nobody could make out what anybody else was saying.

"Silence," Arthur shouted to the room at large. Merlin snapped his mouth shut so quickly it likely would have been audible had anybody else been nearly as obedient, sending another quick glance Arthur's way; Ingram continued to dominate his attention, though, as he continued shouting without pause. Arthur stood and shouted again, authority ringing in his voice, "Lord Ingram!"

The man's jowls shook as his attention was finally caught and he turned abruptly to his king, beady eyes still shining with anger and hatred. Arthur met his look with one of equal loathing, even as the expression faded from the other man's eyes now that Merlin was no longer in his line of sight. The crowd and council gradually fell silent as Arthur stepped forward and down from the dais, now only two or three strides from Merlin and partially between him and Ingram.

Arthur could clearly hear Merlin struggling to calm his breathing, could see him still leaning slightly away from where Lord Ingram stood fuming. Arthur had wanted to intervene every time one of the lords of the council had spoken up, every time they had threatened or accused or just plain insulted his friend, but he had held himself back, worried it would only increase the accusations of enchantment or create the impression that any condemnation Merlin escaped was because of his friendship with the king rather than his own merits, fostering further resentment against him. But he could not stand for this. He focused on Ingram, glaring disdainfully. "I have requested that Merlin tell us how he claims to have used magic for the good of Camelot," he bit out icily. "If you continue to hinder him in delivering his testimony, I will have you removed from these proceedings." Ingram opened his mouth, but Arthur carried on over him calmly. "If you cannot behave like a rational individual and a lord of this court, I may need to go further."

He let the threat hang in the air as Ingram's jaw worked furiously, flabby cheeks shaking. A drop of spittle fell from the corner of his mouth, landing next to the crumbs littering his gaudy shirt. Arthur fought to limit his sneer of disgust to something minimal. "Sire," Ingram finally said, strained and obviously trying to force the growl from his voice, "the boy lies."

"That is for me to determine, is it not?" Arthur asked coolly. He narrowed his eyes. "Unless you know something about the incident he is describing. Something to do with Morgana attempting to raise a skeletal army beneath Camelot, wasn't it?" Ingram paled. "Anything you'd like to share with this court?" Arthur asked innocently. Ingram clenched his jaw, but shook his head and sat, sending a glare at Merlin that suggested he might have happily skinned the young man alive. "I suppose not."

Arthur turned slightly, eyes sweeping the council and the crowd beyond. "The purpose of these proceedings is to firmly establish what Merlin has done with his magic in Camelot and to decide the appropriate response. It is difficult to achieve those goals when there is chaos in my court; these proceedings will be conducted in an orderly fashion, or those who disturb them will be removed and possibly punished further if necessary." He sent another stern look sweeping over them all and turned to Merlin.

The younger man had straightened again, but was pointedly not looking at anyone. His breathing had calmed, though. "Merlin." Merlin raised his head slightly, not enough that he might see anyone's face, but enough to indicate he was listening. "Are you prepared to continue?"

Merlin took a deep breath. "I am, sire," he answered lowly.

Arthur nodded once. "Then please do," he instructed and turned back to his throne.

The rest of Merlin's testimony proceeded fairly well. His voice was shaky and hesitant at the beginning, wary of interruption, but those had significantly decreased. Except for the occasional burst of chatter as Merlin revealed things that hadn't been commonly known, the only sound other than Merlin's voice that filled the hall for a long time were a few disbelieving hisses and warning growls, none from Lord Ingram, whom Arthur watched carefully for just that reason. Merlin did not look up from the floor again.

There was a brief moment of absolute silence as Merlin finished, completely shattered as multiple arguments broke out around both council tables. The crowd beyond joined in the cacophony, eagerly reporting what Merlin had said to those further back, adding their own opinions, and having arguments of their own. Chaos filled the hall for several long moments; Arthur and Guinevere waited silently, Merlin kneeling before them, the three friends the eye in the center of the storm breaking over Camelot.

The persistent sound of someone rapping on wood finally settled the room; all eyes turned to Lord Varick, who stopped knocking on the table in front of him, folded his hands together, and said "Thank you." He was old enough to be Arthur's grandfather, respected by council and populace alike, and one of Arthur's most trusted councilors as he had been to Uther before him. He was currently leaning over his folded hands, still sitting, and studying Merlin intently, sharp eyes bright and fierce beneath bushy eyebrows, with the same innate wisdom Arthur had always known them to hold. Finally, he spoke again, without removing his gaze from Merlin. "Can anyone trustworthy verify these statements?" There was a murmur of agreement from the council. Merlin's shoulders slumped just a fraction. "The boy stands accused of dishonesty, after all, and should not easily be taken at his word." Another round of agreement, louder this time, particularly from Lord Ingram.

Merlin slowly raised his head and met Lord Varick's eyes carefully, but said nothing. He looked resigned, calm but sad.

Arthur spoke up. "I can, in some instances. I did not know magic was used at the time—or did, but was unsure of the source—but his statements fit my own recollections perfectly."

"I can say the same," Guinevere agreed instantly. "In fact, there were so many instances in which Merlin was involved and things coincidentally and mysteriously worked out that I long suspected he was somehow behind Camelot's good fortune and had even begun to suspect magic."

Gwaine, near the front of the crowd and just behind Merlin, spoke up then. "I've had a bit of experience with magic of a different sort during my travels before I came here; I know for a fact there are some who use magic for good. I suspected several of the things Merlin has testified to doing were the result of not only good magic, but Merlin himself working it, long before we knew for certain that he did have magic." Arthur was surprised at that, and a little bothered that Gwaine hadn't thought to mention it before, either to inform Arthur of the possibility before Merlin's magic had been revealed or at least during one of the shouting matches after. Gwaine had vigorously defended Merlin from the moment of his arrest, had insisted that Merlin could only have used his magic for good, but he had never once mentioned having suspected all of this long before Arthur had even the vaguest idea. Merlin, Arthur noted, was not surprised at Gwaine's knowledge; that somehow hurt more. Neither man even looked at him—Merlin was still staring blankly at the floor somewhere between himself and Arthur and Gwaine was glaring challengingly at every council member in his sight.

Leon, Percival, and Elyan spoke up as well, indicating that the things Merlin claimed to have done matched with their memories of events, though none of them claimed any knowledge of magic. Arthur felt relief at that, glad that not all of their friends had lied thinking they had to protect Merlin from Arthur, and then felt guilt for his relief when direct knowledge of Merlin's magic would have helped Merlin. A few other knights, ones Arthur did not necessarily consider _friends_ and knew Merlin didn't, surprised both of them by speaking up as well, offering their memory of various battles Merlin claimed to have aided in and explaining that his claims fit well with their recollections. Again, no direct knowledge of Merlin's magic, though. Arthur was briefly amazed at how successfully the idiot had hidden something so huge from everybody; they were definitely going to have to go over Camelot's defenses against magical threats.

Lord Varick nodded thoughtfully at these offers of verification, leaning comfortably back in his chair once more, but continued to study Merlin. "Can anyone say with certainty that they have personally witnessed any of these acts?" Varick finally asked. He turned to Arthur. "I mean no offense, my lord, but the boy is clearly a skilled liar and it may well be that he is capable of creating a lie that fits perfectly with your recollection of events and yet is falsehood nonetheless." Arthur found himself forced to grudgingly agree; Merlin had done exactly that more times than he could say.

There was a disturbance in the crowd behind Merlin. "I believe I can shed more light on the subject," Gaius said as he emerged. Merlin stiffened, panicked eyes flying to Arthur in a desperate plea as he shook his head slightly. Gaius continued, "I can verify several instances in which it could only be as Merlin has said, threats that could only be vanquished by magic and which I know were vanquished when Merlin was present."

Lord Ingram lurched to his feet, shouting and waving one arm wildly, his already red face darkening further as he glared at Gaius with contempt. "You knew, didn't you?" Merlin flinched at the accusation, but Gaius remained steady. "You knew the traitor had magic!"

Both Gaius and Merlin opened their mouths to respond and Lord Ingram gave every sign of continuing to shout, but Lord Varick cut in smoothly, "Gaius has said no such thing, and you have no right to accuse him of such." He sent the other lord the same stern glare that had terrified Arthur as a child, but it had little effect, only decreasing Ingram's volume slightly as he continued to shout.

"The traitor is his ward! This was the reason he is not participating as a part of the council today and perhaps it should be the reason he participates as pri—"

"Enough!" Arthur barked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin preparing to say something as well and turned a warning eye on him.

While Arthur caught Merlin's attention, Lord Varick spoke over the irate lord who had begun trying to justify himself again, his tone chastising. "The accused boy is the ward of a highly trusted member of the court, Lord Ingram. A physician who has tended us all at one time or another—he has tended our king from birth and has never given cause for doubt."

"He used magic once!" Ingram persisted. Merlin, who had turned back to Arthur, snapped his attention to Ingram again at that remark, scowling furiously and already opening his mouth.

Varick's voice rose slightly, tone firmer and angrier; Arthur wondered if he were speaking as much to shut Merlin up as Ingram. "And I believe he also tended the grievous wound that removed you from active honorable service to the throne, did he not, Lord Ingram? Is he not the reason you are in such excellent health today?"

Lord Ingram sputtered angrily. "His past service does not render him incapable of treachery—"

"Lord Ingram," Arthur cut in, voice as hard and cold as ice. Arthur had Merlin's full and complete attention now, and signaled him to be silent without breaking his glare at Ingram. "I have warned you once already about outbursts in my court and I have tolerated it for far too long. You dare accuse my physician of treachery without reason?"

"Sire—" the lord growled.

"No, Ingram. Enough. My trust in Gaius is complete and well-earned; should any reproach be brought against him, he has at least earned the right to speak in his own defense and be heard with an open mind. As it is, he has as of yet done nothing to warrant your hostility." Arthur could see Merlin's defensive posture deflating from the corner of his eye and breathed a sigh of relief.

Lord Ingram, on the other hand, refused to back down. "He would defend a traitorous sorcerer!" he argued.

"He has said no such thing," Arthur countered calmly.

"He said—"

"That he was willing to offer his knowledge of magic and his knowledge of the movements and activities of his ward to shed light on the matter before this court." Arthur waved forward the guards at the side entrance. "He will be heard," he continued. "You, however, will be removed from these proceedings."

"You can't—"

"And we will continue this discussion at a later date."

As the guards crossed the dais and pushed through the crowd to get to Lord Ingram, he glared at Merlin and Gaius once again. Merlin had already ducked his head, staring intently at the floor, but Gaius met Ingram's eyes with a firm glare of his own. Ingram protested the entire time he was escorted out, whining like a child being sent off to nap, and Arthur couldn't see the back of him soon enough. When he could finally no longer be heard, far too long after he was out of sight to be dignified, Guinevere breathed a sigh of relief. Arthur thought Merlin might have as well.

Lord Varick spoke as if Ingram had never interjected and Gaius's announcement had just been spoken. "Thank you for offering your learning and experience to illuminate the boy's testimony, Gaius. Would you be so kind as to expound on your claims and list the situations you believe the boy to be truthful about and why?"

Gaius listed several magical creatures or beings summoned by magic—the afanc that had been responsible for the plague that had afflicted Camelot several years ago, the griffin that had tormented them, the black knight, the Questing Beast, the Knights of Medhir, the army of skeletons, Cenred's immortal army, and others—who could only be defeated by magic or enchanted weapons and who had been mysteriously vanquished while Merlin was accompanying Arthur in the fight against them. He told of sorcerers too powerful for ordinary men to defeat them, unable to be killed by mortal weapons—Nimueh, Edwin, Cornelius Sigan, and Morgause among them—who no longer plagued Camelot. He laid out his reasons for believing—knowing—magic to be the only thing capable of defeating these threats in a scholarly and confident manner that was both easy for even the most unlearned to understand and utterly undeniable to any but the most irrational and it began to have an effect on those listening. Even more seemed swayed when he reminded everyone of the times Merlin had visibly saved the current king's life, in spite of his magic and possibly helped by it. "The fact that magic has been used to save this kingdom many times over is undeniable," he finished his lecture. "The only question is whether you believe it was Merlin who has done it, as he claims—a well-known loyal subject of the king whom we all know to have saved the king's life more than once already—or one or more faceless sorcerers who remain unknown."

The council—and the crowd beyond them—muttered amongst themselves for a moment before the questions began.

"Do you believe this boy to be powerful enough to defeat all these threats he claims to have faced?" Lord Varick asked, eyeing Merlin speculatively.

Merlin remained unmoved by the doubt, but reddened and shuffled awkwardly as Gaius answered that he was indeed quite powerful "as is often the case with those to whom magic comes instinctively, those who are born with it."

That answer brought about a clamor of new questions.

"Born with it?" someone exclaimed. "That's possible?"

"Yes, quite possible," Gaius assured. "Though it is certainly more rare than it once was."

"Do you believe the boy's claims as to his birth in particular, Gaius?" another lord asked.

"I do," Gaius answered. "Merlin has no reason to lie about this, or about anything now that the truth of his magic has come out, and it is entirely plausible. I have also spoken to his mother at length and she has assured me he was practicing instinctual magic in his cradle."

More questions followed, some of them less about Merlin in particular and more about the nature of magic. Gaius had already answered most of the latter when he addressed the council concerning Arthur's changes to the laws regarding magic, but there were lords present for this trial who hadn't been there who seemed genuinely curious; Arthur was glad for the opportunity for this information to be conveyed to the public as well, far more adequately than he had done in his speech announcing the change. Magic was a subject no one who didn't practice it was likely to be at all familiar with, one surrounded by superstition and wordless fears, and he had hoped this trial would go a long way towards educating and calming the general populace—one goal that he could reasonably hope to be accomplished, judging by the watching faces of the crowd.

Scattered throughout the questions to Gaius were a few directed to Merlin himself, clarification on his magic in particular and on details of the actions he had testified to. Some seemed to be designed to catch him in a lie and Arthur had no illusions about Merlin's awareness of that fact, but the younger man remained calm, kneeling on the cold stone as his very life was dissected and its worthiness debated without showing so much as a trace of anger or any other negative emotion and answering questions politely.

The removal of Lord Ingram seemed to have calmed the proceedings as a whole, in fact, though Arthur wondered if it was merely his lack of presence causing the difference or the implied threat of his empty chair. There remained lords who were prejudiced against Merlin for his station or magic or both, lords who were angry that Merlin had remained near the king so long with such a secret, lords who seemed convinced that an example must be set, and lords whose opinions on the matter before them was completely unreadable, but the questioning remained mostly civil and orderly, calm even when accusatory, and both Gaius and Merlin were given the chance to speak, even if it was grudgingly and only after a few interruptions. Gaius's worry and desire to protect Merlin were evident, but he gave complete and detailed answers, sticking to logic and facts rather than emotion; Arthur was filled with a mixture of awe, amusement, and chagrin at the fact that Gaius remained level-headed and in control of the conversation enough the entire time that he gave no indication of knowing of Merlin's magic before it had been revealed to the whole of Camelot, much less to aiding the young man in learning control of his magic and occasionally practicing himself—he would never have guessed had he not already known from conversations with the two of them. The crowd beyond was quiet and engaged, watching Merlin and Gaius and the council intently.

The trial was off to a great start.

* * *

 **Alright, I feel like I owe you all some explanation. There are multiple reasons why this chapter took so very long to get to you. First, I am dealing with a chronic illness that sometimes makes it impossible to deal with anything or focus or do anything productive, including writing; I have recently gone through another (exhaustive) round of testing in which they found something (not terminal, but hopefully it will allow for progress) and have been dealing with that and its fallout. Second, I write mainly as a form of self-therapy and release, and when it gets stressful, as this story did for a bit, it's really difficult to write the thing that's stressing me out; I have an interest in multiple other fandoms and am working on more than one original project, all of which provide a convenient release when this story does not - this is the first multi-chapter I've ever written (fic or original) to make it this far and it's kinda terrifying. Third, this chapter did not go as easily as I expected; I knew how it was going to end-what the verdict is going to be-since I wrote the original one-shot, even when I didn't plan to actually write the ending, and I knew there would be a trial and had a couple of bullet points for the events of said trial, it just . . . ended up being . . . more words than I expected, more twists and turns and transitions (which are my personal nightmare)-one final chapter became "probably three" and then "at least five."**

 **That being said, I expect this to get significantly better than it has been for the last two or three chapter, starting now. I have a definitive direction to go with my treatment and significantly less stress at the moment in that area, I have a more clear idea of the road ahead in this fic and am no longer quite as stressed - I've made my peace with it, and in writing this chapter I've done a rough draft for the next two (trying to make them all one), so those just have to go through the rewriting and editing process. There won't be any lightning updates, but there shouldn't be nearly three months between them at least.**

 **Something that I want to address before I get the comments: I am aware that as king Arthur has supreme power to make unilateral decisions and that medieval kingdoms were not a democracy. Arthur's decision to hold a trial and include the council is something I have thought carefully about and firmly believe to be in character given the situation. Beyond Arthur's general determination to be a fair and just king for all of Camelot and to be more open in his reign than his father was, there are several in-story reasons that will be explained as we continue; if you cannot wait until then, PM me and I will be more than happy to fully explain my thinking. Also, please note that the description of what Merlin is experiencing is from Arthur's perspective and may not be entirely accurate; just keep an open mind.**

 **As for what's going to happen to Merlin after all this, well, I've been dropping very subtle hints all along, but with this chapter from Arthur's perspective, there are even more hints.**

 **Also, something you may want to know: the muse has decided this fic is going to be a whole 'verse. In addition to the prequel already written and published, I have plots for two to three sequels (one of which I've already started drafting) and several companion pieces, including: more insight into the knight's reactions (particularly Gwaine and including them all trying to figure out where Merlin might have used his magic over the years), a series of one-shots taking place in the dungeons that got cut from this story (including interaction between Merlin and several of his guards, Gwaine's (first) attempt to break Merlin out, Gaius's subtle revenge against Brendan and Alistair after Arthur's, um, altercation, and possibly the first conversation between Gwen and Merlin), a series of letters to Hunith from various people in Camelot tied in to a brief story explaining her absence (plus her arrival in Camelot, in which she scares Merlin half to death), and revenge being taken on a certain Lord Ingram from pretty much everybody in the citadel. Possibly more; I can't remember. I have an entire folder, pages and pages, just for what has been dubbed the People-verse. If you would like to be alerted when a new story in this 'verse is posted (won't be until after this one is done, probably), send me a PM and I'll chat you.**

 **I want to stress that no matter how long it ends up taking between updates, I am determined to see this story through to completion.**

 **I also want to take this opportunity to thank you all for how wonderful you have all been throughout this entire process. Thanks for sticking with me and letting me know what you think! Hearing from you guys has been amazing; praise and critique alike have helped me grow as a writer over the course of this story and I am so excited to continue the journey with you! You guys have kept me going through some seriously rough times and I am looking forward to continuing this journey with all of you!**

 **As always, comments, critiques, and criticism are welcome as I am always looking to improve.**

 **Have a glorious day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


	11. Testimonies from the Knights

**Because it has been a ridiculously long time since my last update (sorry), a quick recap: Merlin is currently on trial for magic, lying to the king(s) repeatedly, and murder (Nimueh, Cornelius Sigan, etc.); he is not expected to get the death sentence as Arthur has changed the laws on magic, but in the interest of not having Merlin be accused of enchanting him, Arthur is allowing the council to have a voice in the matter and they are pushing for punishment. Arthur is doing his best to work with the council and appear as just and fair and free of bias as possible, but still help Merlin to have as easy a time of it as he can. In chapter ten, Merlin gave his testimony of what he'd done-limited by agreement between him and Arthur to not include some unnecessary and needlessly incriminating things-but the council is questioning his trustworthiness, given that he's known to have been lying for years to cover up his magic, and has asked if anybody is able to confirm or support his assertions. Arthur, Gwen, the knights of the Round Table, and a few other knights offered to relate their memories of the events Merlin claims to have helped with, but as none of them were definitively able to verify Merlin's use of magic specifically, those testimonies were initially tabled. Gaius then spoke up, offering his knowledge of magic to explain that certain threats could only have been defeated with magic and his knowledge of Merlin as his ward to prove that he was there when they were defeated; he did not reveal that he knew about Merlin's magic. This chapter begins immediately following Gaius's testimony.**

* * *

 **DAY 19:**

Eventually the council decided they were finished with Gaius—for now—and turned to the other testimonies offered, beginning with the knights.

Leon went first, to set the example, Arthur suspected, for Gwaine more than anybody else. He stood in the space between the tables, just behind Merlin, with hands folded behind him and back straight and gave his testimony much the same way he gave reports: steady and confident and clear, mostly facts given with as little bias as possible with the occasional opinion or clarification thrown in, but always indicated as such. Arthur knew, and hoped Merlin did too, that Leon wanted very much to speak on Merlin's behalf, but that he knew as well as Arthur that anything that seemed to be biased towards Merlin as a friend would be summarily disregarded without impact on its listeners.

Speaking of the dragon and their suicide mission to face it, he said, "I knew then that Merlin was a brave soul, to ride out with us to face the dragon as an unarmed and untrained servant, but I suspect now an even deeper bravery, to ride out to face the dragon and likely perform some sorcery in the company of knights and prince alike. I suspect, looking back, that sorcery must have been involved, for the dragon to have been defeated after so many failed attempts and to have disappeared so entirely." He prepared to continue, but was interrupted by Lord Gauteron.

A former knight renowned for his service during the Purge, Lord Gauteron was harsh and unforgiving of even the smallest offences and had spent the better part of the trial trying to trap Merlin, and later Gaius, in lies to prove sorcery as deceptive and untrustworthy as he believed it to be and as Uther had taught. Now, with Leon's introduction of a topic Merlin had previously avoided—on Arthur's orders, unbeknownst to any but the two of them—he pounced on yet another opportunity. "A moment, Sir Leon." He turned a canny eye on Merlin, a slight smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. "You never mentioned any involvement with the dragon, sorcerer. Have you anything to say, now, to the honorable Sir Leon's suspicion?" He was daring Merlin to contradict a knight, Arthur's First Knight, in such a public way and on such a sensitive matter, and Arthur was sorely tempted to intervene; he saw Leon opening his mouth in preparation to step in as well, to retract his suspicions maybe, but both men were cut off by the sorcerer in question.

Rather than looking at Lord Gauteron—something Arthur was thankful for considering the predatory look the lord was sporting—Merlin lifted his head and spoke directly to Arthur. There was an apology in his eyes. "Sir Leon suspects correctly." Gasps and murmurs of interest swept through the crowd; the council shifted, intent on what Merlin might say next. "I used magic in the defeat of the Great Dragon." He started to say something else, to continue, but was cut off by Lord Gauteron.

"And yet you failed to mention this," he practically purred.

"I did," Merlin admitted freely, voice subdued and serious, but steady. Arthur's heart lurched. "My king asked how I had used magic for the good of Camelot and . . ." He stumbled on his words, eyes dropping away from Arthur's as he swallowed then rising again determinedly. "Failing to stop the dragon sooner is one of my greatest regrets. I cannot count it as a victory, as _good_ for Camelot, when so many died. Innocent people. Brave soldiers and knights. Very nearly our king himself."

As Lord Gauteron floundered temporarily for his next words, Lord Varick spoke up. "Why did you not stop him sooner?"

Merlin turned to him. "I didn't have the magic I needed yet. I tried. Every night. And I failed." He looked back at Arthur. "Every night." Turning back to Lord Varick, his tone became more informative and less guilty. "I did as much research as I could, but so much knowledge of magic has either been destroyed or locked away because of the Purge that I had a difficult time finding anything of use against the dragon."

"But you did," Lord Varick concluded. "How?"

Again, Merlin turned back to Arthur, as if seeking permission. Arthur nodded, curious to see what Merlin was going to say about his father and his Dragonlord power. Merlin turned back to Lord Varick. "King Uther knew of a man, one who had helped him capture the Great Dragon in the first place and had been forced to flee Camelot." He didn't need to say _magic_ or _betrayal_ for the crowd to understand and Arthur couldn't begrudge him this small chance to speak to the innocence of magic—and, though those watching couldn't know, his father—even if it meant putting down his own father (who, after all, had been in the wrong, in this as in many other things). "He sent our then-prince, Arthur, to see if he could find this man and bring him back to stop the dragon—" The murmuring of the crowd, begun when Merlin first mentioned Uther's knowledge of Balinor and increased already at the implication that he had used him and his magic and then had betrayed him, rose sharply at the thought that the king who had stood so staunchly against magic had intended to use it so recently and in secret. Arthur had to raise a hand to quiet the crowd in order for Merlin to be heard.

But before he allowed Merlin to continue, he spoke in answer to the questions of crowd and council alike, "He speaks the truth." Another wave of sound rose, which Arthur allowed for a moment before again raising a silencing hand. "Merlin," he said once the crowd had mostly quieted, "please continue." The crowd fell utterly silent in anticipation.

"The king sent him to find the man and bring him back and I accompanied." At a questioning look from several members of his council (imbeciles), Arthur nodded confirmation. "We found him and managed to persuade him to come back, but were attacked by bandits on the return journey and he was killed. In his dying moments, he gave me the magic I needed to stop the dragon." The crowd murmured appreciatively, passing the story along, but Arthur couldn't help noting that Merlin had left out a very important part of the story. It was understandable that he keep his deeply personal relationship with Balinor private, but—

"Lords of the council," Arthur announced, "in the interest of transparency, I feel it necessary to add here that it was not I who convinced the sorcerer to return with us." He kept his tone grave and innocent, making as much of an effort to seem unbiased as possible. "He had a deep, and not entirely unearned, hatred and mistrust for the Pendragon line, and though he healed me of an injury I had sustained in fighting the dragon, he refused to accompany me back to Camelot, wary of a trap. Merlin is the one who persuaded him, by reminding him of the innocent people of Camelot who were dying and in need of his aid." Another wave of murmurs swept through the crowd and council alike, many seeming to note Merlin's reddened ears at Arthur's praise with interest.

The council conferred among themselves for a moment, before Lord Gauteron again spoke up. "You claim he 'gave' you the magic you needed, sorcerer. How is that? How can magic be 'given' to another? Could you 'give' magic to anyone here?"

Merlin looked up at Arthur, and though he looked strained, Arthur could see he was also repressing the urge to roll his eyes. "I meant, he gave me the information I needed. He told me what to do." He paused, looking to Arthur and wrinkling his brow as if uncertain whether to continue answering the lord's other absurd questions. Arthur shrugged minutely, deciding to leave it up to him, but before Merlin could speak, Lord Gauteron did.

"Perhaps you should speak more clearly, then, sorcerer. Perhaps you should remember that you are speaking to your king and his council on serious matters. Misinformation is as grievous an error, as much a deception, as outright lying, and you would do well to be careful."

Merlin bowed, still facing away from Gauteron, but towards Arthur. "My apologies for my error, my lords." Arthur noted that his voice was a bit breathy, as if the relatively shallow bow had taken a great deal of effort, and wanted to frown, but instead nodded politely in acknowledgement of Merlin's apology. A few of the lords of the council nodded as well; others sniffed in dismissal, including Lord Gauteron.

"If everyone is quite satisfied on the point of the defeat of the Great Dragon, perhaps we can allow Sir Leon to continue?" Lord Varick put forth. There were some general murmurs of agreement and no one spoke up with any questions, so Lord Varick nodded at Leon in a signal to continue and the knight complied.

There was not much left for him to tell, a few major events and probably more fights in which tree branches had mysteriously fallen on people's heads and swords had fallen out of people's hands than anyone really remembered, though Leon made a valiant effort to make sure they were still noted. He ended his testimony shortly after he began again, bowing and turning to leave, but hesitated at the last moment.

He turned back, gaze sweeping the council and finally landing on Arthur and with another bow, spoke again. "My lords, I wonder if I might add something which I believe to be relevant to the proceedings here today, though it may not be directly related to the actions of the man on trial."

The council turned to one another, conferring and glancing occasionally at Arthur, who watched them as well, gauging the mood, but made no indication either way.

Lord Varick leaned forward over his folded hands, intrigued, and glanced at the other lords of the council. As the chatter died down, he turned to Leon. "Sir Leon, you are a trusted and respected servant of the Crown, and as a knight who has served many years directly beside our current king you have a perspective on these proceedings few can claim. I, for one, would be interested in hearing what you have to say."

A few others spoke their agreement and Leon acknowledged them with another bow and began to speak.

"Some time ago, shortly before the plans of Morgause and the lady Morgana came to fruition in the form of an immortal army and Lady Morgana was revealed a traitor, I and a large patrol of knights were attacked by those now known to have been in their employ. I alone returned. I was badly injured and would have died— _should_ have died—but instead I woke in a cave, tended by druids. They had found us where we lay, knew us unmistakably for knights of Camelot, those who would be their enemies, and they saved me anyway." Leon took a deep breath. "I believe they used magic to do so."

"Magic! On a knight of Camelot!" Lord Aalart cried, sounding scandalized.

Leon didn't hesitate, turning to the man and saying in the same steady tone as he used to report an uneventful patrol, "Yes. I believe they used magic. To heal me, a man duty-bound to kill them by law, without hesitation or question or thought of reward. In spite of the fact that Morgana and Morgause—magic users who proclaimed themselves the champion of others like themselves—were responsible for my injuries." He glanced at Merlin. "They turned against other magic users to save the life of one who would see them dead simply for their ability to use magic, just as Merlin claims to have done, and as many here today have dismissed as unlikely or impossible."

"But—!" Aalart squawked. The man seated between him and Lord Ingram's empty seat waved a quieting hand and Aalart turned, saw the empty chair, and pursed his lips, but didn't make any move to continue his protest.

Leon ignored him anyway. "Since then, I have been wrestling with the question of magic, forced to question all I had been taught about it." There was a rumble of anger at that, but Leon determinedly continued. "As a knight of Camelot, I have a duty to uphold the law, regardless of my personal convictions, but as a man, I began to wonder if it might not be as inherently evil as I believed. If there might be good in magic, hidden from us because of that law." He paused and Arthur could see him debating something with himself, then his eyes dropped to Merlin and it was settled. "I no longer wonder. There is good in magic. There can be no denying it, when the proof would appear to be sitting right in front of us."

As he bowed and stepped back into the crowd, the room was abuzz. There were those who were angry that Leon would dare to suggest such a thing, that any knight would question his king in such a way or dare to speak to the council so authoritatively. There were those who were intrigued by his statements, who were perhaps swayed. There were those Arthur couldn't read, either impassive—withholding judgment—or swept up in the overall excitement of the trial. Arthur tried to be satisfied, but there were far too few who appeared to be on Merlin's side and his stomach wouldn't stop fluttering. Then it got worse.

"Have _you_ ever used magic on a knight of Camelot?" a shrill voice rose above the din. Instantly, the atmosphere changed.

Arthur turned with the rest of the crowd to see Lord Aalart pointing a thin finger directly at Merlin. His demeanor—and the general response of the listeners to that particular question—was equal parts fear and fury. Arthur had always found the slightly younger man pathetic and irritating, and the feeling only increased. He shifted to lessen the instinctive stiffening of his spine, stifling the urge to shout the man into silence and instruct Merlin and the rest of the council to ignore the question.

Merlin blinked in surprise, brow wrinkling in confusion, as whispers skittered nervously around the room. "What do you mean by 'on,' my lord?" he asked carefully.

"Don't be impertinent, sorcerer," Lord Gauteron barked. "And don't try to avoid the question."

Merlin's jaw shifted and he said, very politely, "My apologies, I was merely trying to clarify what it was his lordship wanted to know." Arthur knew Merlin, and he knew he was holding back something smart that he very much wanted to say.

He decided to say it for him, cutting off anything Gauteron might say. "It is best for all parties to be careful to speak clearly, to avoid misinformation, is it not, Lord Gauteron." Merlin's lips twitched. So did Gauteron's jaw. Arthur turned to Aalart, but his satisfaction quickly fell into dread. "If you wouldn't mind clarifying your question, my lord."

Aalart spluttered. "Enchantment!" he finally shrieked. "Or attack! Or—or any sort of magic! On the person of a knight of Camelot!"

Arthur drew in a slow breath, consciously relaxing jaw and fists and spine.

Merlin took a breath as well, considering, before he finally answered, slowly. "I have never used magic on the person of any knight loyal to Camelot or my king."

Arthur held his breath in worry. That sounded like a lie, risky in the current circumstances. Then he reconsidered and had to quickly restrain a snort. No, Merlin wasn't lying, not directly. He was just being very specific. The only person he had ever admitted to enchanting was Arthur himself, who by some definitions wasn't a knight. He had only mentioned healing—or trying to heal—Arthur, Morgana, and Uther. He had attacked knights only when he knew them to be traitors to the Crown. And he had admitted to distracting knights and guards to sneak out, not using magic directly on their persons. Clever.

But still risky.

"I can't help but notice the specificity of that wording, sorcerer," Gauteron drawled. "You have used magic on knights of Camelot who you claim were _not_ loyal?"

"I have," Merlin answered without pause. There was a hint of steel in his tone, some promise or threat, and Arthur wasn't the only one to hear it: council and crowd shifted in interest, quieting and straining to hear.

Gauteron prepared to continue, but was cut off by Lord Varick. "You refer to the Knight Valiant, whom you spoke of earlier?" Merlin nodded and Varick hummed consideringly. "And perhaps also of Lord Agravaine, who was once a knight of Camelot and whom you claim to have worked against in secret for the better part of his recent time here in court?" Merlin tipped his head to the side and gave a half-shrug of acknowledgement. "Are there any others to add?"

"No, my lord."

"Then we need drag this out no longer," Lord Varick said, again cutting off Lord Gauteron.

"Now, just a moment," Gauteron protested, loudly, as if worried he'd be cut off again. "We're going to just take his word for it that there aren't any others?"

Geoffrey spoke up. "You think he's going to change his testimony if you keep pushing?" Lord Gauteron's expression indicated that he certainly did, and Geoffrey scoffed. "The question of his honesty might be under scrutiny at the moment, but the fact that he is stubborn is irrefutable. I have observed the boy for several years now; asking questions he has already answered once is going to do nothing but waste time. I agree with Lord Varick. Let us move on."

"I'm not certain—" Lord Gauteron began.

"I am," Arthur cut in. "Geoffrey speaks truth in regards to Merlin's stubbornness. The fact that he remained in my service for so long rather than having gone home to his village years ago speaks to that, if nothing else does. There are other testimonies for us to hear, let us not waste time in doing so."

Percival's testimony, next, went more smoothly than any previous, perhaps because he had less to relate and it had already been covered in Merlin's, Gaius's, and Leon's testimonies, perhaps because the council was growing impatient and tired and did not want to draw another testimony out as they had the previous ones, perhaps because the warnings of Lord Varick, Geoffrey, and Arthur from the attempt during Sir Leon's testimony were still ringing in their ears. His tone was grave and measured, his words economical and confident. Arthur was quite pleased at the result.

As he gave his testimony, his perspective—rare among those of his station—of having grown outside the borders of Camelot and under laws less strict on magic came through clearly. He spoke of the events that he had observed and openly added his history with magic as support for Merlin's claims—Arthur hoped a knight of Camelot, trusted and respected by all, speaking without any fear or bias against magic would help ease the people's concerns.

"Someone used magic for our benefit, over and over in fights," he said. "And Merlin was there, every time, as Merlin always has been. He's a good man; it's no surprise he'd use magic for good," he concluded.

Or, Arthur thought he was concluding. Percival, too, had a surprise in store once he'd finished relating the facts, not that Arthur felt as surprised as he thought he likely should have been. "There is one more thing, something I didn't see first-hand, but learned through a good friend, Sir Lancelot, before he was killed." He paused, looking to Arthur for direction.

"As Sir Lancelot is no longer with us to relate this information himself and you appear to be the only source of it, besides Merlin, please, share what you know."

Percival nodded. "When Sir Lancelot first arrived, Camelot was being beset by a griffin; I don't know how many it had killed, but I do know that it seemed invincible, that no one had been able to defeat it. Lancelot joined a party riding out to face it, a party that was uncertain of victory because of the magical nature of the creature and its known history, a party that ultimately failed, all killed or knocked unconscious in the battle except for Lancelot, who charged in one final effort. He never said _how_ , but he always said that he hadn't defeated the creature, that Merlin had, and that he'd risked more than I could possibly know to do so. In light of Merlin's magic, I can imagine what those risks might have been: he used magic to defeat a creature of magic and in doing so he could have been discovered— _was_ discovered, by Lancelot, but he could have been discovered by any of the others, which would have meant the pyre." Arthur was pleased to note that, although some in the crowd looked as if they would happily throw Merlin on the pyre at any given second, there were others who appeared sickened by the mention of it and sympathetic to one facing it.

"Thank you, Sir Percival," Lord Varick said. "Who is next?"

Gwaine instantly stepped forward. "That'd be me," he said, all brash challenge and cocky swagger.

Gwaine's testimony, as the fifth so far this trial covering more or less the same incidents, should have gone at least as smoothly as Percival's. But Gwaine was Gwaine and he'd never made anything particularly easy, or smooth. His testimony of Merlin's exploits obviously took Merlin's testimony into account—and took it as fact—and he presented each bit of information as if challenging anyone to question either himself or Merlin.

And question they did. Lord Gauteron and his cohorts, those eager to trap Merlin in a lie, shifted their search for dishonesty to Gwaine. They accused him of agreeing with Merlin without proof, which he rather handily refuted, only to add, "Not that I need proof, anyway. Merlin only ever had one reason to lie about any of this and that no longer matters; now that everyone knows he's got magic, there's no reason to hide what he's done with it. Especially when what he's done with it is save all our lives, more times than anyone can probably guess, let alone _prove_."

He scanned the crowd. "It makes sense for Merlin to have done what he said, not just because it fits with what we all saw, but because he's a brave lad, and always willing to help, even a stranger who probably doesn't deserve it." He paused and spoke more quietly. "All the things he's done to help people around here, from individual people—with little favors and kind words and friendly smiles—to the whole of Camelot with his staunch determination to do what needs to be done for our king and us knights to see victory, all of that is too much to be a lie. It _can't_ be, because he didn't have to do any of that. No one would have thought anything of it if he hadn't. But he did, because that's the kind of person he is. And that kind of person, if he has magic, uses it for the good of Camelot, just the same as he uses his time and other efforts.

"I said earlier, and Sir Percival there showed as much in his testimony, but magic can be good. Those outside of Camelot know it. Anyone who's spent significant time outside of Camelot, especially in certain places, know that magic is whatever the user wants it to be, and that's good as often as not."

Apparently having said his piece, Gwaine offered Arthur a half bow, flipped his hair back, and sauntered back into the crowd.

Elyan came next, testimony short and to the point with no added frills, no interruptions, and no new information.

Then came Sirs Aymer and Roulfe and Evrart and Hardegin, men who had gone on patrols with Arthur and Merlin in the past, had fought alongside them, and who were honorable men. Hardegin was impassive, practical, loyal to the throne and not given to bouts of philosophy; Arthur had declared magic to not be evil, so he saw no reason to be biased against it, though previously he would have hunted magic users to the ends of the earth if ordered. The other three were understandably more wary of magic still, but honorable enough to overcome their own prejudices to verify what they knew or believed to be true in regards to Merlin's actions. Arthur wished more would have spoken up, but he was unbelievably proud of the ones who had, especially those who didn't even have a personal friendship with Merlin to encourage them.

Only two more testimonies to go, Guinevere's and then Arthur's own, and then they would be done with this ordeal.

* * *

 **Updates may continue to be slow, they may not; I can't be sure. I am absolutely not giving up on this story, though. I am determined to see it through to the end.**

 **All chapters up to this point have been edited and updated, mostly for grammar, but also for some slight clarifications of the thoughts and opinions of characters. If you have already read them, it shouldn't be necessary to re-read.**

 **As always, comments, critiques, and constructive criticism are more than welcome as I am always looking to improve!**

 **Have a terrific day!**

 **M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


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